Investiture
by ElizabethBella
Summary: COMPLETE! A Lynley and Havers get together story, set after "Know Thine Enemy" - A kiss should change everything, but Tommy and Barbara will have to make their love work through cases, rivals, family, and the politics of CID and Barbara's own terror of relationships. The last chapter is fluff. Enjoy, and please... R/R:
1. Chapter 1

"Barbara!" Thomas Lynley spotted his partner across the road.

Barbara Havers quickly crossed to him. The snow was sifting down as they walked down the sidewalk towards the blaze of police lights.

"Convenient," she noted. The crime scene was less than 5 blocks from their offices back at the Met. "Has anyone found a note?"

"No," he answered, waiting for her to show her warrant card at the cordon before they made their way up the granite steps of the imposing home.

The body of Stephen Lawford, disgraced former MP, was on the floor of the first-floor library. The shotgun by his side was being packaged up as Lynley and Havers watched from the hall. The pair had donned coveralls, but held back as the body was carefully being readied for transport.

Lafferty nodded a greeting to them as he pulled off his gloves. "Of course we'll need the PM to be sure, but so far nothing counter-indicates suicide."

After a search of the room, Lynley continued to walk Havers through the home. They traced Lawford's last movements, stopping in front of a small upstairs office.

It looked like a letter bomb had been exploded. The color of the carpet couldn't have been identified for the layers of paper on the ground.

"Christ," Lynley breathed. "What happened here?"

"Sir? You knew him, yeah?" Barbara asked, her eyes skimming over it all.

"I did, yes."

"From school?"

"Yes. But we hadn't spoken in a decade or more."

"You sure?"

"Of course," he temper began to grind. "Why?"

Barbara squatted down and indicated a piece of embossed Howenstow stationery amongst the sea of paper.

The bottom of the card was covered by some kind of credit card bill, but a close look confirmed it well enough. "It's a thank-you," Lynley closed his eyes in thought for a moment. "He sent something – a gift – after the wedding announcement. There were dozens of these."

Barbara didn't doubt it. "But why'd he keep it? I mean…this bill is from last month, and this… uh, some kind of charity thing dated just a week ago."

"You're right," he allowed. With a sigh, Tommy shook his head. They carefully walked the perimeter of the room but nothing else caught their attention.

Back outside, Barbara buttoned up her coat before pulling her ever-longer hair out of the collar. The movement caught his eye. Then he had a quick vision of Helen doing the same thing. He looked up into the snow, trying to clear his mind.

"You all right, sir?" she demanded.

Unbidden, Tommy was fighting the images of the funeral, of Helen's death and of all the days afterwards as they flashed through his mind. _The world can wait_. Without answering her, he turned and began walking away.

"Wait!" she called, jogging to catch up with him.

"Never mind, Barbara. I'll see you back at the office." A moment later, a taxi stopped for his lifted hand and he was gone – leaving a surprised Havers in his wake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lynley's office was empty when she arrived. She was working at her seat when the division secretary approached a little while later. "Detective Sergeant?"

"Yes?"

"You're wanted in AC Evans's office."

"What, now?"

The other woman gave her a quick nod and Barbara turned with a sigh.

"Sir?" By the time she arrived, Barbara's cheeks were half-frozen.

Evans motioned for her to step all the way in. As she pushed the door open, she realized that Fiona Knight was in the other chair. "Ma'am?"

"Hello, Barbara," Fiona responded.

"I'll get straight to the point," Evans pinned her with a severe expression and Barbara wondered if she were in some new kind of trouble. "Inspector Knight's requested you for the Kent task force."

"What, those assaults?"

"And now murders," Fiona looked grim. "The latest victim was found this morning – dead. We've got nothing by way of forensics so far, just like the others. And the girl we found Thursday is not expected to last the night. The head trauma is terminal."

"Oh."

"We need to get this sorted - and quickly."

"I'd have to…"

"He's already signed off."

"He has?" Barbara breathed in with surprise. "Right. Uh…OK, then. When do we get started?"

"How does _now_ sound?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Hadi had insisted on helping her pack her small bag and Azhar had offered to keep an eye on her place. The drive to Canterbury took almost three hours because of some ridiculous accident on the M2. And through it all, there'd been no answer on Lynley's mobile.

Refusing to be distracted, she found Fiona in a conference room serving as the taskforce HQ. The Kent Police Station in Canterbury was a squat brick and glass box with a pronounced 80's vibe, but at least the offices the team had been given were recently painted and carpeted.

After a quick bite cadged from a nearby curry shop, the task force met. Together, they picked apart the details with new insights and ideas floated by individuals.

"If he keeps to the schedule, we can expect the next attack to occur between 4:30 and 5:30 Monday morning," Fiona informed them. "And most likely within 5 miles of where we sit. Every available copper will be out there that night, keeping watch."

"Begging pardon, Ma'am, but will we be able to join them?" One of the DC's, a local, interrupted.

"We'll have a rota for volunteers but we need to focus our energies on what we do best." Fiona finished her briefing and urged them all to get a couple hours' kip before going on patrol. After everyone else had finally broken up and moved out, Barbara fetched a couple of cups of tea.

"Thanks," Fiona gave her a grateful smile. "You're lodged at the Falstaff, by the way."

"I don't expect to be sleeping much until we catch this guy," Barbara shook her head.

"No, but bathing is mandatory."

They both proved prophetic. Over the next few days, another victim was found and the team averaged not enough sleep and not enough baths chasing down every hint of a lead. By Tuesday night, Fiona resorted to sending Barbara back to the hotel with strict orders to rest. Havers dragged herself back to the inn in a stupor.

And there he was - sitting alone by the old brick fireplace, nursing a pint.

Lynley turned and locked eyes with Barbara.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" she demanded, her heart beating erratically.

"Hello to you, too." Lynley stood and indicated the table. "Join me?"

"I called," she responded stubbornly.

"I know. I'm sorry," he stepped towards her.

"If you want on the case…"

"That's not why I'm here."

"You just disappeared."

"I know," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

With a huff, Barbara sat down and dropped her purse on the table. "So?"

"The card, Helen's handwriting…I just needed a few moments. The next thing I knew, Evans was informing me that you had been seconded to this taskforce."

"You didn't answer my calls," she reminded him.

"All right, I needed more than a few moments."

"It's been 3 days."

"I left you a message."

"Last night. While I was in the midst of this."

"As I said."

"You can't…" she sputtered.

"What?"

"Keep disappearing, sir."

"I was on leave," her reminded her brusquely. "That's different."

"Oh, right." With a deep breath, she stood. "Well, I need sleep."

"Barbara," it was a request.

She considered it.

"Just tell me…it's a good team, here? You're all right, I mean? Making some progress?"

"Oh, God…"

"What?"

"Don't fish," she warned.

"I'm not."

"You are. This has to stop, sir. You can't push me away and then come 'round 'cuz I've got a new guv."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It's not? Because last time…"

"This isn't last time!" He exploded.

"Fine," she didn't argue. He wanted absolution, and she was tired of fighting. _Tired, full stop. _

"Sit back down for Christ's sake."

She perched on the edge of the seat, ready to bolt.

"Lawton has been designated a suicide."

"I heard. What about that card? Anything?"

"I think… well, he knew Helen, too. It's possible it was just a keepsake."

She noticed his voice didn't hitch when he said his wife's name. _Progress, then._ "What's next? This?"

"I was on my way to Howenstow."

"It's the opposite direction. You're taking leave?"

"Not entirely the opposite. And yes, a few days. My mother has had some trouble with the new manager; nothing major but warrants a visit."

"All right," she drew out the last word.

"Barbara?"

"Yeah, OK. Consider us patched." She stood up again and gathered up her coat.

He got to his feet as well. "I'd had a crazy thought that you'd come with me."

"To Cornwall?" Barbara didn't cover her surprise. "I have to be up again in less than 6 hours to try and catch a killer."

"I meant…when this is over."

"Who knows when that will be. But I'll see you when I get back, yeah?"

"Right. Sleep well," he offered, watching as she headed to the stairs.

The next thing she knew, the alarm in her phone was buzzing loudly. Barbara turned on the light by the bed and checked for messages before pulling herself over to the bathroom. It took several gallons of hot water before she felt clean but by the time she'd dried, she was feeling almost human again.

The trouser press revived her pantsuit and she pulled on a fresh blouse. _Hadi would be proud_, she thought as she draped her coat over her arm and let herself out of the room.

"Hello." He was leaning against the wall outside her room.

"God!" Barbara slapped her chest in surprise. "I thought you were heading to Cornwall?"

"Not right away. There's a killer here, first."

She shook her head. "I knew it," she muttered.

Outside, Tommy touched her on the shoulder to point out his car. Barbara paused a moment before capitulating and following. He could face the music with the SIO on his own. And the leather seats of his Bristol were comfortable to her in a way she couldn't explain.

"Seat belt," he reminded her.

"York Street in Ramsgate," she rolled her eyes, ignoring the overly paternal tone he put on too often. "I'm working with morning patrol."

"Right," he said, releasing the break and heading into the dark.

"You slept?"

"Yes, thank you. The room was surprisingly comfortable. You?"

"Yeah," she said, covering a yawn.

It was a 30-minute ride to Ramsgate. Lynley showed that he'd done his homework and asked pertinent questions. By the time they found parking and pushed into the old glass doors into the station, he was almost as prepared as she was.

"Ma'am? Fiona?" Barbara approached with a tickle of anxiety. There was no hiding who was following her into the room.

"Tommy," Fiona stood and shook his hand. "Good to see you again." She wasn't just saying the words; her weakness for tall, dark and broody types hadn't waned.

"Inspector Knight," he responded with a tight smile.

He looked around and realized that the cops around them were bundling up and moving out with speed. "Report of a car just parked over on the esplanade," she explained. "It would be ahead of his established schedule, but still…"

"Not exactly a nice night for a stroll," he agreed, pulling his driving gloves back on. One of the PC's gave Barbara a radio and Tommy a star-struck stare. Fiona led the team quickly out into the cold. Sirens and lights kept off not to spook the killer if he was still out there.

Barbara gave him a pointed look as he drove. "You called ahead," she accused.

"Texted. Look," he pointed out the windscreen. The cop cars had flashed on their lights and sirens. "They've found something."

It was a quick run through though the scrub to the tiny copse of trees. The seventh victim was miraculously still alive, but barely recognizable as a woman underneath all her injuries. She was transported swiftly to local hospital as the rest began hunting for evidence.

The hours slipped past in freezing blur. The car turned out to have been stolen. The victim was identified. Frantic parents were driven out from Gillingham to sit by their daughter's bedside. Fingertip search again yielded no useful forensics.

It was gone lunch before anyone thought to take a break. Fiona slipped out to the nearby Starbucks for a cup of awful American coffee. She knew before sitting down that Thomas Lynley, Mighty DCI and Earl of Asherton, was right behind her. The admiring glances of the women in the shop – or for that matter, many of the men – gave it away.

"Sit," she invited, taking a sip and savoring the froth.

"You look well."

"I'm a good 8 pounds 10 ounces lighter than last time," she pointed out.

"Yes, of course. My belated congratulations."

"And my belated condolences to you."

He inclined his head a moment and then looked back up. "You have a good team."

"I have a great team," she corrected. "And a great skipper. But you knew that all along, didn't you?"

"There were some impediments."

"Like the fact that the chip on her shoulder would eclipse most of Southeast England? Or that she considers most authority and anything remotely upper echelon to be a malignancy?"

"That, too."

"Underneath it, though, she's as fine as they come. And she's come a long way even since we worked together last. Barbara could go far if she keeps on like this."

"I know," he smiled softly.

"I know you know," she quipped. "The question is, what now?"

"Barbara won't stay in Kent."

"Not even to make DI?"

"Oh," Tommy sat back, surprised. "You're serious?"

"I need a strong DS, and yes – it would be promotion tracked. Not like the Met, of course, but…"

"Oh," he repeated. Needing a moment, he got up and ordered a cuppa for himself.

"Can you let her go?" Fiona asked when he returned.

"It's her choice," he responded.

"Oh, don't," she chided. "You forget I know this Punch and Judy show. The question was to _you_."

"But it's not _you_ I owe the answer to," His tone brooked no argument.

"Fair enough. Though, Tommy… a word of advice?" Fiona's eyes were compassionate. "Barbara's lovely, but…"

"Don't be ridiculous," he interrupted. Then he stood and left the café without looking back.

Barbara worked with one of the local DC's driving as they revisited the last-seen locations for each victim. She knew there was something more she wasn't seeing. But by the time they returned for the afternoon, her frustration level was off the charts. She wasn't alone. Everyone was watching the clock and feeling the pressure.

The urgency to find the killer was now under growing national attention and by the time Barbara stepped back into the Falstaff, it was almost 9 and long since dark. She was practically to the stairs when she heard Lynley call her name. Rubbing her eyes, Barbara turned and headed over to the small bar.

"Have you eaten?"

"Where have you been?" she sat down in the chair he pulled out.

"I've got Chinese. Still warm, I think."

"Cheers," she gave him a tired smile. "But I think I'm past food."

"Try," he urged, pushing the container across the table.

She nibbled, savoring the steam that came up off the rice. "I didn't see you at the meeting."

"I went back to the drop sites. I tried to call a couple of times."

"Yeah, I was at the grab sites. We found some more video off a couple cash machines. Nothing useful, yet."

"Barbara…"

"Havers," she responded.

"Pardon?"

"Well, it used to be 'Havers' – unless you wanted something. What happened to that?"

He sat back, thinking.

"I noticed it during the Thompson case, actually."

"I hadn't noticed it at all. Do you mind?"

"I'm not bothered," she looked at him warily. A trickle of adrenaline warned her that the conversation had suddenly taken a strange turn. Barbara pushed the food away and thought about heading up to her room before it went any further.

As though reading her intentions, Tommy reached out and carefully touched her forearm. She could feel the heat of his hand through her jacket and down to her skin.

He closed his eyes and slowly opened them again. He knew her confused expression was mirrored by his own.

And as soon as pulled his hand back, she was gone.

Tommy nursed one more drink before heading up to bed himself. Careful not to get drunk – not after what happened with Julia. But enough that he sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she opened her door at 3, she wasn't surprised he was there.

"Good morning," his voice was rough – almost a whisper. "You look nice."

"Morning," she answered, thrown off by the compliment.

"Ramsgate, again?"

"No, Kent Station in Maidstone. We're briefing the Chief before he gives his appeal. "

"So. Tell me again about the grab sites," he urged as he drove them through the darkened streets.

"Uh, public places. Mostly Canterbury proper. 4 pubs, one sort of bistro restaurant, one car park, and one sidewalk between a cash station and a book shop, and the most recent from the parking lot of a senior home."

"Geographic pattern?"

"All in or near Canterbury. Nothing physically similar. The pubs were different sorts, the car park and parking lot were just slabs with completely ineffectual security. The sidewalk the same. There were pubs near all the locations – but there were also churches. I mean, it's Canterbury."

"The drop sites are all bits of woods. The first 4 were small forests just near car parks. The next two barely copses. All at least 30 minutes from Canterbury along and near the seashore. Last one actually being ON the seashore."

"And a stop along the way to commit rape, torture, and battery." Barbara thought a moment. "None of the victims remember anything specific –between the darkness and the drugs, right? But the ones who've we been able to interview said things like they had this sense of when they were little and would hide under the bed or something like being 'boxed up'. The girls are a type, but otherwise random. So I keep thinking that our link must be the special place he takes them to. Isolated, strong enough that there's not a lot of outside noise, dark even in daylight."

"A place where he controls the environment. Especially the forensics."

"Yeah," she agreed, the wheels turning in her mind. "This is all local. The girls. The sites. So the place is local, too. A private bolt hole. A place he's had –known about, or even used before– for a long time. That's key."

"So we re-do the overlays," Lynley agreed. "And we find it."

At that hour of the morning, the 30 miles had taken less than 30 minutes. Tommy dropped Barbara off and then entered separately some minutes later.

Tommy had to keep himself from marching to the front of the room. But after a while, he realized that it was interesting to see Barbara operating separate from himself. Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, he watched as she was brash about her opinions – of course – but stayed on point. She conveyed more of the big picture than he expected her to.

Lynley thought back to a time when he'd held back to allow a young Cornwall detective a chance to follow his own leads. How he'd cautioned Barbara to follow suit. Now, he watched as she, in turn, encouraged the DC's to give their pieces to the Chief.

After an hour, they relocated back to Canterbury and watched the appeal on the monitor there. "He did all right," Barbara approved.

"So did you," Tommy said, for her ears alone.

"Oh. Thank you," she responded, a little bemused.

Fiona gestured the blown-up map on the board. "So, another mapping exercise? Haven't we done enough of these?" She pointed to several computer-generated pages pinned up on the board.

"I'll say," one of the DC's agreed from behind his computer.

"Yeah, OK, I know. But what's the harm in trying again?" Havers challenged.

Lynley opened his mouth to agree when Fiona shot him a quelling look. "What's your thinking, Barbara?"

"I want to try this a different way – more like an exclusion than an intersection diagram." Barbara explained. "I think our killer would go to great lengths to protect his… lair, for lack of a better word."

"You think we need to look at the where he _hasn't_ been?"

"Exactly."

"On with it, then" Fiona approved.

Nodding, Barbara began to draw the connections between each grab and each drop site. Then she began highlighting circles that were not touched by either. The result was a kind of Picasso-ish polygon that stretched in ribbons through Kent.

"OK, do you see anything in all this?" she backed up to where Lynley was leaning his hip against one of the desks.

"Maybe I can help narrow it down," Lafferty announced. He breezed in with a packet of papers and handed them over to Fiona. "We found maize."

"Like, corn, you mean? That isn't exactly breaking news in Kent," Fiona responded, skimming through the report.

"Aye, Guv – but this stuff was dirty and had fibers from maybe two or three different dyed cottons, like from clothing."

"Dirty?" Tommy thought for a moment.

"Look, we've known all long that he washes the victims very thoroughly before wrapping them in bin bags prior to dumping. Now we think that he's specifically been using a power washer."

"Power washer?" One of the DC's repeated.

"Yeah, there's minute traces of a particular kind of cleanser. But even more revealing is the bruising; consistent on top of the other injuries," Lafferty demonstrated, using one hand over the other in a criss-cross pattern. "It takes some hours to appear on the survivors because it's done last before he gets rid of them. But this time it might have done more to reveal our guy than hide him; the power washing seems to have pressed a maize stem deep into her ear canal. The bits of it that escaped the wash are covered in trace material."

"Dirty corn…" Barbara said softly. She looked over to Fiona, and shook her head. "Like…lots of people cutting through a farm?"

"Or…" Fiona pointed at her. "Like a Maize Maze."

"That would fit," Lafferty nodded.

"How many of those in the area?" Tommy jumped up and looked closely at the map.

"Two I can think of that match this - Haguelands Village and Quex Park." Fiona took a red pen and circled the two locations – each well in the highlighted areas. "All right, let's split up – you lot, with me to Haguelands. The rest with DS Havers to Quex," Fiona instructed, grabbing her coat and purse.

"Ride with us?" one of the DC's asked as they all headed to the door.

"Thanks, but I know the way," Tommy announced, pushing through the doors in a hurry. He paused when he realized she wasn't following right behind. Realized, too late, that the question had been more aimed at her – not him. "Barbara?"

She met his gaze. "I'll ride with Inspector Lynley," she announced to the others. "Meet us there."

It was about 10 miles, but Tommy practically flew the Bristol over the road. They pulled into the drive in front of Quex House and began looking around. An elderly caretaker came down the stairs to meet them, complaining that the grounds were only open on Sundays.

Lynley and Havers produced their warrant cards while they gave the senior a close look. He was leaning on a cane, and tiny. Possibly an accomplice, but not the killer they were looking for.

The rest of the officers came streaming in, and gathered around. "Not that we need reminding – but if he's followed pattern, he's already taken his next victim, yeah? And she could be somewhere, right here and now, needing us to find her."

"Where's the maze?" Tommy demanded from the caretaker.

"It's been taken down," he replied, still a little outraged by the intrusion.

"Taken down _where_?" Tommy pushed.

With a shaking hand, the caretaker pointed to a group of outbuildings. The team moved at a run. As they approached a greenhouse, a young man came racing out of it. Tommy and 3 cops took chase while Barbara rushed in the door and began searching around. Some loose corn was on the concrete floor. A power washer was coiled up by a drain. There were what looked like to her a few marijuana plants growing in a corner. But everything seemed quiet, otherwise.

"Detective Sergeant? Here! We have something!"

She jogged over to an adjacent tool shed. It was probably original to the place – walls made of old stone with a rustic double door. One of the DC's was pulling up a wooden slat from the floor. Beneath it was a narrow, dark hole and Barbara pulled her torch from her pocket as she approached.

A tiny whimpering sound sent the team into a frenzy. Within moments, they had ripped up several more slats until the opening was wide enough to reach in. The young woman at the bottom of it was crying and blinking against the light. Barbara ripped off her coat and reached down to cover the girl before carefully removing the gag. "It's all right," she soothed. "You're safe now. We're the police."

Barbara slept past 7 the next morning and then took a soak before dressing and packing. She smiled as she entered the lobby – for the first time, she was actually going to get to eat the breakfast. Her expression only faltered when she saw Lynley motioning to her.

"Good work, yesterday," he acknowledged, pouring her a cup of tea from the carafe on the table.

"You, too."

"Thank you. Took 3 of us to bring him down."

"Still," she gave him a small smile. "I thought you'd be off to Howenstow by now."

"Have you given it any thought?"

"What, exactly?"

"Coming with me. You're due a few days, at least." Tommy swallowed a flare of impatience. Then he looked at her pinched expression, the way she'd pulled her fine hair into a messy ponytail, and the pretty blue jumper she had on over her jeans. All at once, she was both familiar and new to him.

"Is this because of the job offer?" Barbara asked him. "Fiona told me last night that you knew."

Tommy exhaled. "Have you decided?"

"No," she shook her head in a tiny motion, never losing eye contact. "But it's tempting."

"I never would have imagined it - the constabulary, I mean."

She fidgeted with her cup. The two Met DC's entered the dining room with a boisterous greeting and Barbara and Tommy moved over to make room at their table. For the next half-hour they re-hashed the gruesome details of the case while eating, as only seasoned coppers can do.

Finally, Tommy stood and said his goodbyes. With a long look at Barbara, he gathered up his duffel and headed for the door.

A few moments later, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Bristol slid to a stop in front of her. She slipped into the passenger seat, tossing her rucksack in the back. "The DC's are going to bring my car back to London," she said softly. "I told them I'd take the train back in a couple of days."

"Good."

Neither said anything more until after they'd merged onto the M25.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Daze looked at her son fondly as he, in turn, watched the fire. "You're looking better," she announced.

"Well, I could hardly do worse," he answered.

"You know what I mean," she chided. "It's been hard on you, these past couple of years."

He wanted to point out that it had been harder on Helen, but swallowed it back.

"Barbara looks well."

"She is," he agreed. Tommy glanced at his mother's expression and sighed. "What?"

"I… well, it's none of my business."

"No, it's not," he sat across from her. A little more gently, he added; "There's nothing to say. The case in Kent was particularly difficult."

"I saw, on the news. Well, we're happy to be an antidote, Tommy." She stood and kissed his cheek before withdrawing for the night.

A few moments later, Barbara herself slipped into the room. She was in a dressing gown; a new one, he noted.

"Thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I guess I'm still wired a bit from the case," she admitted. "I saw your mother just now. Are you sure she's all right with me being here?"

"Don't be absurd," his voice was severe. "She's delighted. As am I."

Barbara gave an inelegant snort. "Delightful."

Lynley crossed to the bar and poured himself a drink. Barbara shook her head at his lifted brow, so he dropped the ice in his glass and carried it back to his chair. "I know you consider it to be in fun but it gets irritating," he announced. "Your jibes."

Barbara coughed. "That goes both ways."

"Neither of us could help our births. So why persist in denigrating my circumstances?"

"As though you respect mine," she shot back. "The look on your face when you saw that caravan!"

"The scorn in your voice, just now," he answered.

"Damn it," she cursed, standing up and moving towards the door. "I told myself I wouldn't do this."

"What?"

"Fight with you."

"Ah." He took a long swallow, felt the warmth trickle down inside his chest. "That also goes both ways, I expect."

She reached out to touch a framed picture of him and Helen on a bookshelf. She realized, with a start, that she'd been there when it had been taken. It seemed like a million years back.

"Barbara?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't asked my opinion."

She turned back to face him.

"But if you're considering this because you think I'm about to be kicked upstairs, I can assure you that it won't happen. Not anytime soon. I won't let it."

Barbara opened her mouth, surprised. "Why would my decision have anything to do with you?"

"Right," he recoiled. "Of course." He tossed back the last of his drink with a quick salute and returned the glass to the bar. "It's late," he told her. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

"Yeah," she agreed, stepping to the door. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Barbara."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was almost lunch before Tommy exited the Estate Manager's office. With a heavy heart, he called his sister and confirmed that they needed to start interviewing replacements.

"I could come back," she sighed. "At least until John…"

"We've tried that," he answered. "You have your own life, Judith. It can't keep going on hold. If, or when, John comes back we will welcome him but in the meantime, this one won't cut it."

"No, I agree. That's what I suspected. I'll contact the agency."

"Sooner, please."

In response, she hung up on him.

Shaking his head, Tommy stepped into his mother's sitting room.

"I know that look," she tapped her fingers on her desk. "You've let him go."

"I had to, Mother. He's just not up to an estate this size."

"This is the second one," she complained.

"Well, Babbacombe Lee got lucky on the third try – perhaps we will, too."

"Or perhaps you could come home?"

"Mother," he gave her a fond look. "Please."

"I still think I should be doing it…"

"We've been through this."

"Right."

He moved towards the window. In the distance, he could see Barbara returning from a walk. Her pink nose visible even at 100 yards.

"Tommy? Allow me some motherly counsel."

"Yes?" he looked back at Daze, his expression guarded.

"Don't stop looking for love."

"Oh, for…"

His mother held up her hand to silence him. "What I mean to say is, you married a dear and wonderful woman. And there's no doubt you were the closest of friends. But companionship is not enough. I _do_ know your reputation, Tommy."

He felt himself blush a bit and tried to stop her, but she would have her say.

"No, we won't discuss that. It just goes to show that you need more than a friend in a partner. And more than your job. Yes, it's important. But out there is a woman who will engage you. She'll be irresistible. And all I am asking is that you don't hold that against her. I know you hate distractions but the honest truth is that if a woman can't distract you then she isn't the one."

Tommy leaned back on his heels in surprise. He felt the wheels in his mind grinding, trying to form a response.

Daze recognized his discomfort. "Just think on what I said, please?"

"I will," he promised, making a hasty retreat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Barbara found him back in the library, on the computer. Nursing a hot cup of tea, she wandered along the shelves looking at the books while waiting for him to finish.

"How was your walk?" he asked.

"Really good, actually."

"I'm glad," he moved to the sofa and she joined him there. "I've been thinking about last night…"

"Me, too. You should know; I'm not about to take it."

"It's a great opportunity," he mused. "Your advancement is important."

"It is. I just can't imagine leaving the Met. Or you. Our partnership, I mean."

Tommy rubbed his chest with his left hand and exhaled slowly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, really. Look…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Surely you can call me by my name in private?"

She stared at him, "That, again?"

"Barbara," he kept his eyes on hers. "Why is it so important to you to keep me in my place? We're friends, surely?"

"Keep you in your place?" she echoed. "Talk about backwards! Look around you. Look where we are."

"Is that all? Then let's talk in Acton. Or would Edinburgh do? I know, we'll fly off to America. No class nonsense there. We'll have plastic food in plastic chairs and be covered in firearms but we'll be able to talk as Barbara and Tommy?"

She pursed her lips, her expression that long-suffering mulishness that he hated.

"Fine," he capitulated.

"You know, for all your talk – you're worse than I am."

"You're not serious."

"Aren't I?" she challenged. "Well, my Lord, please do tell me what I am feeling, then. And thinking. And what to say. And don't forget to remind me to fasten my seatbelt."

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "You call her Fiona," He said softly. The statement was almost an accusation.

She didn't know how to answer. All her arguments died on her lips – it was useless to speak them, she knew. Because at the end of the day, they were both aware that there was really only one reason. "We do well – no, better than well – just as we are. Don't you think?"

Lynley dragged both his hands through his hair. The clock ticked through several minutes as they sat together in silence. "To be honest," he turned his head to meet her eyes. "I'm not sure what I think."

The silence pressed back between them, tense and uncomfortable. They were skirting a big line and they both knew it.

At last, Barbara stood. Tommy moved to stop her, then thought better of it and followed.

"I'm suddenly reminded of the recording in Tube stations."

"Oh? What's that, sir?"

He met her eyes, his expression gentle. "Mind the gap." Opening the door, he stepped back and let her go.


	2. Chapter 2

Hadi and Barbara exited Harrods and out into the fading afternoon. "What next?" the little girl asked, a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.

"Next?" Barbara laughed and juggled the shopping bags to one arm. With her free hand, she guided Hadi towards the car park. "What do you mean, 'next'? I'm done in!"

"Just one more?"

"Oh, no. It's getting late and…" Barbara stopped short and looked up.

Lynley looked down with surprise. "Hello."

"Hello," she responded. For a moment she felt like the world had paused. Then she noticed that there was a sleek brunette in a fitted cashmere coat hooked onto the crook of Lynley's arm.

"Caro, this is DS Havers and her friend… Hadi, is it?"

Hadi nodded and hung on to Barbara's hand.

"Havers, this is Carolyn Lindley."

"It's nice to meet you," the other woman flashed a million-Euro smile. She looked at the bags and raised an eyebrow. "Holiday Shopping?"

_No, rollerblading_, Barbara thought with a rush of irritation. "Yeah. Well…" She looked up at the darkening sky. "We best get back. Nice to meet you, too."

"Yes. See you later, then," Lynley flashed a quick, stiff smile.

She nodded and moved with Hadi down the sidewalk. Sparing a quick glance behind her, Barbara was startled to see Tommy's dark eyes locking onto hers. With a furrowed brow, he turned away first.

Her mobile rang with his number just a few hours later. "Thames River, near the base of Albert Bridge," he said without preamble.

"In the water?" she asked, already up and tugging her coat off the hook.

"No," Tommy answered, "The mud."

"I'm on my way."

She was glad of the warning – the muck was past the ankles of her wellies as she picked her way past the bright houseboats towards the thick cement pylons anchoring the bridge.

"Dead about 4 to 6 hours. Nothing so far to counter-indicate drowning." Lafferty smiled a greeting to Barbara over his gruesome task.

"Drowned, in the _mud _you mean?" Barbara looked at the victim, sprawled faced down.

"It happens. Last year we had a woman who passed out eating breakfast and drowned in her bowl of Weetabix."

Tommy winced, and then squatted down to inspect the placement of the hands. "He was climbing up the embankment when he died?"

Barbara bent down and looked, as well. "Climbing but not able to lift his head?"

"Someone was holding it down? From behind, here…"

"No footprints, no tracks," Barbara used her torch to inspect the ground.

"It was sleeting pretty hard, earlier," Tommy reminded her.

"Or maybe he was drugged, or having an M.I.? I dunno, that's a mystery for the lab," Lafferty shrugged, pulling off his gloves and grabbing his helmet.

Barbara shook her head at him. "Tomato pesto," she warned.

"Responsible mileage," he quipped, heading up the hill.

"I.D.?" Barbara asked.

Lynley was looking through the deceased's wallet. "I had already recognized him, actually. Geoffrey Lawford – Stephen Lawford's brother."

"Brother?"

"Half-brother from the father's first marriage. Ran a sporting goods company in Sydney; flew home for the funeral. I met him briefly during the inquiry."

Both their boots made "squishing" noises as they moved up to the entrance of the bridge, which was closed for repairs. "Careful, Guv," a PC warned as he held up the barrier for them.

She raised a hand in acknowledgement as they moved to the edge of the bridge and looked around. The elegant white spires atop the suspension cables and the railings were lit, making it hard to see into the dark where the body was found.

"Maybe he was dumped, made it as far as…?"

"His clothing was wet, certainly. But I'm not sure it was soaked through."

"What possible reason could he have to be here?"

"Good question," Tommy agreed as he began leading the way back to their cars. When he briefly touched his fingers against the small of her back as they negotiated the path back around the embankment, she stiffened up.

With a sigh, Tommy dropped his arm.

It was nearly 3 in the morning when they finally tracked down the victim's next of kin – a daughter. Or, rather, the next of kin found them.

Cressida Lawford had been enjoying London's nightclub scene and ignoring the police calls to her mobile. When she arrived back at the Lawford house in a taxi to discover Lynley and Havers methodically sifting through the rooms, she immediately let out a screeching wail that was half outrage and half fearful hysteria.

Her drunken state did not lend itself to being comforted. The Family Liaison Officer sat with her for nearly quarter an hour before she was calmed enough to talk.

Cressida proved spectacularly unhelpful with providing any information about her father. She'd barely known her uncle and the trip to London for the funeral was, to her mind, an excuse for a wild vacation.

"What were the plans for you and your father to go home?" Lynley asked, perched on a wingback chair across from the grieving daughter.

"Plans?" she echoed.

"Was your return flight booked?"

"Like, paid for?"

"No. I mean, did you know the date you were due to go back to Sydney."

"I'm on my gap year. I _told_ you."

Barbara cut in before Tommy's temper could completely unhinge. "Miss Lawford, do you have any other family you'd like us to contact?" She enquired, stepping forward from behind Lynley's chair.

"My mum's back in Sydney; she and dad have been divorced for _ages_. And there's some kind of cousin somewhere."

"Here? In London?"

"…Sherwood Forest, I think," she sniffed. "That's what dad called him; Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest."

"Right," Barbara closed her notebook and gave the girl a weary smile. "Thank you for your time, Miss Lawford. We're very sorry for your loss."

The pair made their escape back out to the hall. "Robin Hood?" he repeated, slightly incredulous.

"Gap year," Havers responded, shaking her head.

XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Julian Robert Lawford-Jones," Winston Nkata informed them with triumph the next morning. "And she was almost right – he's a ranger at Sherwood Forest. There's a Lawford family manor in Nottinghamshire, but he's registered as living in Edwinstowe." He handed over some printouts to Lynley, who scanned them quickly.

"Does he know?"

"Informed about an hour ago," Winnie answered.

"Right," Tommy stood and gathered his things. "Ready, Havers?"

"Ready," Barbara agreed, quickly following him.

A few hours later, Lynley pulled the Bristol onto the gravel drive of Kingship Manor. The front door of the stately Edwardian manor house was flanked by two white pillars. A thin man leaned against one nonchalantly while he finished his cigarette.

"Mr. Lawford-Jones?"

"Aye," he stubbed out the cigarette and pocketed the butt before stepping forward to shake their hands. The green collar of his uniform shirt peeked through his coat as he led Lynley and Havers up the steps and into the foyer of the house.

"This is beautifully maintained," Tommy looked around in appreciation.

"Used as a bed and breakfast during the season," Robert explained. "But the family has always had Christmas here." He paused and went a little pale, as if realizing for the first time how little family he had left.

He explained that he hadn't seen Geoffrey since he'd moved to Australia. "Never met the daughter, neither, before she called this morning."

"She's phoned you?"

"Yeah. Looking for money, believe it or not." Robert's lips went tight.

"Is she due to inherit?"

"Kingship, you mean? In a manner of speaking, I guess. There's a family trust that administers the house and the lands. She'll have use of it same as the rest of us but there's no money. The Bed and Breakfast is barely profitable enough to pay for Marti. The interest on the trust pays maintenance or gets rolled back in."

They trio walked the rooms, looking around. Robert talked a bit more about his family, the manor's history, and the trust before checking his watch and ushering them out.

"We appreciate the tour," Tommy told him as they made their way back to the car. "It's a remarkable home."

"You should see it in the summer," Robert looked back at the landscape with affection. "Call if you have any more questions."

"We will," Barbara assured him.

Lynley pulled the car out of the drive and pointed them in the direction of downtown Nottingham. At his request, Barbara called Cheryl Lawford, Stephen's widow, and set up an appointment. After separating from her husband, she'd settled a few towns over from Nottinghamshire.

The sleepless night and long morning caught up with Barbara, who was about ready to doze off when she felt the Bristol stop. They were outside a small café.

"We've got an hour before we meet the widow, and I need something to eat and a carafe of coffee," Tommy announced.

Soon they were seated in a small booth by the window, waiting for the daily specials. Barbara looked up at the darkening sky. "Is it supposed to sleet again, do you know?"

"Snow, is what they said," he took a sip from his coffee and grimaced. _Bitter_.

"White Christmas," she mused.

"Any plans?" he asked. "For Christmas, I mean."

She'd known what he meant. And he knew she never really did have plans. "You'll be at Howenstow," Barbara put the question back on him.

"You should come with me," Tommy surprised himself by suggesting.

"It's family," she scoffed.

"Nonsense. My mother would be…" he was about to say '_delighted'_ but stopped himself just in time.

Barbara gave him a steady look, as though daring him to be honest instead of polite. She had almost elfin features, sometimes. High cheekbones, pointed chin, wide green eyes. No one who didn't know her would call her beautiful, but as she grew older Tommy decided Barbara had grown into her features. There was something arresting about her smile; about the curl of her hair down her neck.

"You're doing it again," she chided, pulling her hand up to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear self-consciously. "Stop."

"You're good company," Tommy realized.

"I'm not," she argued. "I'm alone too much to be any good at it."

She had a point. Most of the women he was attracted to were a whole package – attractive, pulled-together, intelligent, and witty. Barbara, on the other hand, was defensive, blunt, stubborn, and sarcastic. But she had something that no other woman had – his trust.

Tommy swallowed back a wave of disorientation and made the internal decision to call Caro once they got back to town. Spend some more time with her.

The waitress pushed their plates in front of them. "What do you think of Cressida calling for money?" Barbara asked between bites.

"I'm surprised she was awake and sober at any point this morning," he admitted. "But I'm not shocked she asked a virtual stranger for cash. She didn't seem to be too attached to the niceties."

After lunch, they found the Stephen's widow's house with a few minutes to spare. She was in a grey twinset and pearls; her solicitor at her elbow ready to monitor the interview.

"I've heard about Geoff from Robert. Terrible thing."

"How well did you know your brother-in-law, Mrs. Lawford?"

"Hardly at all. I only met him once; a trip to Australia we all took the Easter after we were married. The brothers were not close."

Barbara nodded as she took notes. "Had you met Cressida?"

"Her highness?" the woman pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. "She was obviously the pampered pet, but they'd ruined her. Several times while we were there, money went missing from my purse. And I'm sure I smelled alcohol on her breath - she was barely 14, I think. But Stephen refused to rock the boat so I never said anything."

Lynley pushed for details about the family trust and the brothers' monetary situation but the solicitor cut him short at every try. After a fruitless hour, Barbara and Tommy were back in the car and headed towards London.

It began to snow while they were pulled over at a petrol station, filling up. Lafferty had just called with details from the P.M. when Lynley got back into the car, rubbing his numb hands together.

"It was either murder or stupidity," the pathologist announced over the speaker. "He had at least double the usual dose of sildenafil in his system. Mixed with the medicine for his heart condition, it was a sure recipe for a massive coronary – which is exactly what happened. There's a little foam in the lungs, which indicates that he did suffocate a bit in that mud - but it was the M.I. that caused his death."

"Sildenafil? You mean…"

"You know it as Viagra," Lafferty confirmed.

"If he had a heart condition, what doctor would give him a prescription for that?"

"Good question. There's no record of one and no bottle listed in inventory. But with the time difference, it will be tomorrow before we can ask his doctor in Sydney directly."

"Double the dose?" Barbara asked.

"Plus another undigested tablet still in his stomach."

"Any signs of sexual activity?"

"And there it gets even stranger. Traces of spermicidal agent like those found in condoms, but no indications of ejaculation."

"Coitus interruptus?"

"Finding that out would be your job, not mine," they could hear his shrug all the way from London.

They rang Winston next. "So we're looking for Geoffrey's date," Lynley told him, summing up Lafferty's report.

"We might have a lead," Nkata replied. "Lawford's carrier just sent over the list of his last calls. A couple of local numbers and one with a Midlands prefix, unregistered mobile."

"Track it down."

"Will do, Guv."

Tommy fastened his seatbelt and turned the car back on the road out of Mansfield towards the M1. It was a narrow highway with barriers on both side and as the weather began to worsen, he felt the car fishtail a bit in the turns.

"Maybe we should pull over at the next town," Barbara leaned forward to look up at the sky. All she saw was falling snow.

Lynley nodded and kept his full attention on the worsening road. There was open countryside on either side of them; farms and forest with no lights in sight. A few miles later, just as Tommy's hands began to cramp from exertion, there was the welcome glow of sign for an Inn.

Inside the aging white farmhouse, they found an antique bar with a few patrons and a small dining area with a handful of empty tables.

"What can we do for you?" the bartender called.

"Do you have accommodation available?"

"Caught in the weather?" the cheery man clucked. "Let me get my wife and see what we've got."

The Inn boasted 5 rooms, with 2 left available. After a quick supper, Tommy followed Barbara up the narrow stairway to the top floor. The tiny single rooms were tucked under the eaves with a bathroom between.

"It'll do fine," Lynley smiled to the woman, accepting towels and a tiny bag of toiletries. "Thank you."

Havers rubbed her arms as she looked around the chilly room. A few moments later, Lynley knocked on her door. "Fancy a nightcap?"

With a grateful nod, she followed him back down the stairs. Tommy carried two glasses over from the bar and they curled up on a sofa in front of the electric fire.

"Thoughts?" she asked, taking a sip.

"It's all a lot of coincidence with no real evidence of murder," he answered.

Barbara nodded her agreement. Starting from the beginning, they walked through everything they knew. Lynley fetched a second round for them as they puzzled Geoffrey's Viagra use. He watched her shiny cheeks pink up and smiled.

"What?" Barbara demanded.

"Nothing," he dismissed. He looked down at where their knees were almost touching. An almost overwhelming impulse to put his hand on her leg surprised him and he pulled back suddenly.

"Really, _what_?" she asked again, her eyes watching him narrowly.

He watched her right back. "I just realized something. You haven't called me 'sir' in days. You haven't called me anything, come to think of it."

"I'm sure you're mistaken," she flashed a small smile before taking another sip.

"I'm _not_." He kept his gaze on her, not letting Barbara look away. "Say something, Barbara," he urged.

"Like what, exactly?"

"Something that matters," he ordered bluntly. He felt his heartbeat race a little with the audacity of it.

Barbara wanted to make some kind of joke and change the subject, but her nature was far too honest. "All right, how's this - " she exhaled, putting her drink down on the table. "The other week, at Howenstow, when I told you my decision about the job had nothing to do with you. I was wrong. I realized it later. Truth is… well, the truth is…" she stumbled, unable to put into words the thoughts crowding her mind. "I told you I was no good at this," she confessed.

"Then let me help?" Fighting to control a sudden tremor, he reached out and touched her hand where it lay on her leg. Squeezed gently. "When Helen and I were separated, there was a night…"

"I remember," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

"You talked about a reason to get up in the morning."

"The job."

"It's more than that. I realized it long before, when you wanted to resign. It's our partnership on the job. Us."

She stared back at him for a long moment. "Yes."

"Yes," he echoed.

"So you understand why I'd want to keep it the way it is." She slipped her hand out from underneath his and reached out for her glass again.

"Would it be such a disaster?"

She coughed as her drink went down the wrong way. Alarmed Tommy leaned forward but Barbara shook her head. "I'm all right."

"I hadn't realized that the thought of me was so ridiculous."

Barbara sucked in a breath. "It's not. That's not…"

"I'm joking," the corner of his mouth twitched. At the end of the day, he _was_ aware of his assets. Even if his partner thought of them as impediments, being the contrary woman she was.

Their eyes caught again and Barbara remembered a time when she'd had to fight, every day, to keep her feelings from him from showing. But over time, she'd seen the bad and the good of him and come to accept him as a real partner – senior in rank, but equal in importance.

"Now you're the one doing the staring," he pointed out, pulling his hand off her knee to rest on the back of the sofa between them.

"Ahem," they jumped as the innkeeper cleared his throat loudly. "I'm closing a little early, what with the weather and all. Will you two need a last call?"

"Um, no. Thank you," Lynley took a deep breath. He'd forgotten the man was even in the room.

She yawned as she watched the older man lock up and wave good night to them. "I think I'll head up, as well."

"Right," he acquiesced.

Barbara pushed away from the sofa and headed up the stairs. Tommy finished his drink with a gulp and then carried the glasses back to the bar. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Barbara standing on the landing.

"You all right?"

She chaffed her hands against the chill. "No heat." Her breath came out slightly foggy.

Tommy stepped past into her bedroom and began fiddling with the heat controls. When the knob fell off into his hand, he groaned.

"Well done," she teased.

With a dark look, he moved to his own room where he had more luck. The orange glow gave off a little warmth and she sat on his bed, holding out her hands. "I'll fetch the innkeeper as soon as I defrost."

"I'll do it," Lynley sat beside her. "Barbara, look - if it's one thing I've learned lately; don't make decisions out of fear."

"Begging your pardon, but I've got a little more to lose than you do."

There was no arguing her logic. Tommy saw it just as clear-eyed as she did. Emotionally and professionally, he could survive almost anything. But Barbara? What did she have to fall back on?

He hated being alone. Barbara was like Helen had been – true and honest and someone that made him feel good about who he really was, not just the image people liked to put on him. But did he _want_ her? Enough to risk so much?

Exhaustion began to push down on him and Tommy surrendered. They didn't have to solve everything in a single snowy night. "Barbara," he touched her arm, gently. "You're right. It's late."

She looked down at her feet. Then, deliberately, she kicked off her shoes – one after the other. Without looking at him, she lay down on the bed and curled up as close to the edge as she could get.

Tommy stood up and closed the bedroom door. Then he stretched out beside her before shaking out the blanket over the both of them.

"Good night…sir," her voice was almost a whisper.

He reached over and turned off the light. "Good night, Barbara," he answered softly, closing his eyes. "Sweet dreams."


	3. Chapter 3

Barbara exited the steamy bathroom the next morning hating that she'd had to put on the clothes she'd slept in, but there was nothing for it. Following the muffled sounds of conversation, she found Lynley downstairs nibbling on toast and chatting with the innkeeper. He looked disgustingly none the less for wear.

"There she is!" the innkeeper lifted a hand in greeting as she spotted Barbara. "Hungry?"

"Starved, thanks," Barbara admitted, sitting down.

"The road looks cleared," Tommy said with a glance out the window.

"Oh, yes. They're good about that sort of thing," the innkeeper's husband said proudly. "Though the radio says there's another storm coming, I think you should be fine."

"More snow?" Barbara ate faster.

She and Lynley gathered up their few things and were ready to go quickly. As they pulled out of the drive, he spared her a long glance. "Sleep all right?"

"Yes, thanks. You?"

"Yes."

They fell into silence as he drove. The wind blew the loose snow against the windscreen, keeping Tommy's attention on the road and their speed sedate. Once they got on the M1 at Leicester, though, he put his foot down with relief.

"You love this car," she said, a little teasing.

"I do," he was unashamed. "So do you, admit it."

"I don't."

"Liar," Tommy scolded.

"I don't," she insisted. "For one thing, the radio's crap."

"It's original!"

"For another…"

"Yes?"

"…I could do without your complaining about every scratch."

"What? So you'd be happier if I drove a Panda?"

"A Twingo'd be good," she enthused. "Though I'm not sure you'd fit."

"I'm sure I'll never try," he quipped.

They made good time to the Wembley exit. Tommy negotiated the familiar roads to Barbara's flat, pulling the brake as they stopped in front of her building. He watched as she walked away, Barbara's coat swaying with her gait. He'd know her anywhere, he realized. Her movements had become so recognizable to him, even at a distance.

They met up again, washed and changed, at the Met. Winnie was ready with a stack of reports, and it was dark by the time they finished.

"Hey, there," Tommy called as Barbara passed by his office door. "I was thinking we could catch a bite and…"

"Oh, I can't," she pulled a face.

"Previous engagement?"

Barbara nodded. "Yeah."

"See you tomorrow, then," he said brusquely, turning his attention back down to his monitor.

"See you," she echoed, walking away. Before he could talk himself out of it, Tommy dialled Caro Lindley's number. She offered to make him a late dinner. At her place.

He accepted.

At Azhar's flat, Barbara and Azhar raved over Hadi's first cooked-all-by-herself meal – kebabs and slightly soggy rice. She'd worked hard at it, if the destruction of the kitchen was any indication. But the finished product was eminently edible and both Barbara and Azhar finished their suppers with smiles.

She couldn't help a stray thought on how Lynley was doing. For a moment, she fingered her mobile in her pocket. With a shake, she left it alone.

Tommy arrived promptly at Caro's. She raved over the wine he brought, complimented his jacket, and told him his police career was sexy in a very 'Holmes meets Spooks' way. She'd made tiny lamb medallions in a wine reduction. The decorative sprigs of rosemary she'd grown herself; one of the things she said she'd picked up at a 'eco-friendly' culinary course the year before.

They chatted about the Sargent portraits on loan to the Art Museum, and whether renaming the House of Lords as the Senate would give it any teeth in the long run.

When Caro exited the kitchen with their nightcaps, Lynley appreciated the swell of her skin on display due to some strategically undone buttons. When she sat next to him on the settee, she stroked his arm.

He caught her eyes. The flirty expression should have been all he needed to lean in for more. Instead, the bright blue colour made him lean back.

"Like what you see?" her voice was a low growl of desire.

"You're a stunning woman."

"Thank you," she touched a tip of her finger to his jaw.

He captured her hand in his own and held it. "Caro…" his voice was thick with regret.

"Tommy?"

"I…can't."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he looked into her eyes. She was exactly the kind of woman he liked waking up next to. But he just…_couldn't_. "It's me. There's been some things lately, well…"

"She'd want you to be happy," Caro said confidently.

For a strange second he wondered how Caro could speak for Barbara. Then he realized, with a start, that she meant Helen. Sighing, Tommy stood. "Thank you for being understanding," he muttered.

As he left, she offered a rain check and a promise of patience. Tommy flipped up the collar of his coat, and stepped out into the night.

The next morning, Lynley pushed through the doors of the Met with a little more effort than necessary. He was exhausted; slept badly and the persistent gray clouds over London made it feel like perpetual dusk. He found the bright holiday decorations on the shops annoyed him. Even the morning greetings of co-workers made Tommy want to snarl.

He was at his desk an hour before he saw her come in. The hair from around her face was pulled back in a clip; the gloss on her lips was fresh. "DS Havers? A word?" he called before she'd even had a chance to take off her coat.

"Sir?"

"Nice of you to join us," he bit out. "We've got a break on the Viagra. A group of chemists was arrested this morning as part of a mid-level drug ring." He pushed a report towards Havers and waited while she scanned the contents.

"High end customers – teens and young 20's? The nightclub set, yeah?" She pulled an A-to-Z map from her pocket and spread it out on his desk. "It fits. I've been down to Battersea Bridge Road and back this morning, and I think I've got a piece of this." With a pen, she circled where Geoffrey's body had been found by the barges. Then she circled the Babaloo Club, where Cressida had been seen that night. Finally, she pointed to the Lawford house on Eaton Square.

"Not everything is solved with a map, Barbara," he shook his head.

"Will you _look_, sir? It's all in a line. I walked the club to the bridge – 25 minutes, tops."

"What about the house to the barge?"

"Better part of an hour."

With a raised eyebrow, Lynley picked up the A-to-Z. "You're thinking that Cressida, what, set up her own father?"

Barbara nodded. "I think we should take a look at her clothing from that night."

"She'll have washed it, or thrown it away, certainly."

"Not the shoes," Havers said confidently. "Girls like her never throw out shoes."

He picked up the phone to start the warrants, feeling his mood rise as they shared a smile.

It was dusk when Winston Nkata caught up with Lynley in the hallway. "Disposable party phone, bought at a Tesco in Nottingham."

"Disposable party phone?"

"Yeah. For when you're going out and don't want to bring your expensive Smartphone in case it gets stolen or something."

"You're kidding me."

"Gotta keep up with the times, Guv. It was bought for cash about three weeks before Stephen Lawton was found dead. Hasn't been used since Geoffrey Lawton's death."

"It would be too much to ask for security video from that Tesco, wouldn't it?"

"It wouldn't, actually. I'm on it."

"Good work," Tommy smiled at the younger man. "Keep me posted."

"Sir?" Barbara held up a sheet of paper like a trophy. "Guess where Cressida's new boyfriend is known to kip?"

"Houseboat?"

"Him and a group of his mates from school; it's owned by one of their fathers. They are still processing the prints…"

"How many?"

"Over 100 and counting. It was basically a flophouse for these kids. But so far they haven't found any usable forensics that definitively link Lawford to being there."

"Well, that condom had to have gone somewhere," Tommy shook his head. The ridiculousness of hunting for a somewhat used prophylactic down by the Thames was not lost on either of them. "Right, well remind the techs to canvas all the bins in the area."

"Will do," she answered. The pair ducked into his office. "How did the discussion with Cressida's mum go?"

"It was informative. She's not coming over – claims there's no money for it nor a need."

"Even with Cressida burying her father?"

Lynley shrugged. "Seems that there has been no love lost with Cressida and either of her parents – she's run away several times, been cautioned for shoplifting and for assault. Two years ago, she broke the leg of another girl from school after a schoolyard fight – though the other girl and Cressida both claimed it was an accident, Cressida's mother suspected different."

Havers raised her eyebrows.

"She also told me that Cressida and her dad had barely spoken since the divorce. Said things were hard, financially, and there was a lot of resentment – blame put squarely on Geoffrey. Last summer, Cressida started talking about coming to London for a gap year but Geoffrey refused to help. No support once she turned 18, you see?"

They exchanged a long look. Neither had much patience with parents who clocked off.

Stuart Lafferty appeared in the doorway. "Valium."

"Valium?" Lynley enquired.

"Yeah," Stuart stepped in to put a report on the Inspector's desk and noticed Havers in the other chair. "Hiya."

"Hi," she smiled back.

"If you remember, there was no bottle for the Sildenafil in the inventory. But there _was_ an empty Valium bottle. Prescription to Geoffrey Lawford. On the off chance, we swabbed it. Traces of Sildenafil."

"Bingo," Barbara applauded.

"They're both blue, you see. If someone took the time to round off the Sildenafil, file off the brand? It could pass at first glance as Valium."

"But we have no proof that is what actually happened," Lynley pointed out.

"Unfortunately, no. The argument could be made that the victim himself was using the bottle for the Sildenafil. The pill still in his stomach was too degraded to show deliberate tampering."

"What about fingerprints on the bottle?"

"Just Lawford's."

"So we're back where we started."

"Not quite. Lawford took that last pill less then 30 minutes before he died. But the bottle? Was found in the trash at his home. It could be something. But that's for you people to figure out."

XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lynley was relaxing on his settee the next night as he thought about the case when his mobile rang.

"The interim manager resigned today," Judith announced.

"You're joking. She's only been on the job two weeks!"

"Nothing was said directly, of course, but I got the distinct impression that Mother had expressed definite opinions."

"On what, exactly?"

"_Everything_, I suppose. The resignation letter said that while the manager was happy to have accountability and partnership in her role, perhaps the estate would be best served with an assistant for Mother rather than a manager per se."

"Which is vernacular for Mother second-guessed the woman right out of Howenstow," Tommy interpreted.

"Maybe we should try an assistant? Or perhaps…find a more traditional sort of estate manager? Someone more like John?"

"A man, you mean?"

"Mother does like things to be a certain way."

"Yes," he sighed.

"The thing is, I've promised Stephanie we would take that trip to Majorca as soon as she got home for school holidays."

"Will you be back for Christmas?"

"Of course, but I don't think the estate should go that long without someone looking after things. She does so much this time of year already."

"No, no…of course. And Peter's not up to it, either. Go on your trip; I'll get back to Cornwall somehow and see what I can do."

"Thanks, Tommy," his sister paused. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Working. The usual."

"Getting out?"

"The usual," he repeated.

"Right. How's Barbara?"

"Fine. Uh, we got caught up in the Midlands in that storm the other night," he surprised himself by sharing. "We had to stop at this tiny place, practically no heat…"

"I'm thinking Jamaica Inn, the stuffed animal years?"

"You're being too generous. I mean, thank God it was there for us but I think Barbara may still be plotting revenge."

"Didn't you check the weather report before you went? I mean, Tommy, your lovely car isn't exactly all-wheel".

"Not you, too," he growled. "Barbara had a go at the Bristol on the drive back."

"Blasphemy!"

"At one point, she threatened a Twingo. It was terribly mean spirited. I almost left her at the Watford Road Chef."

"Oh, Tommy," Judith collapsed into giggles.

"Look, I'll…talk to Mother. We'll sort this out."

They rang off a few minutes later and Lynley stood and stretched before pressing his speed dial.

"I'm scrolling through surveillance video," she answered. "From the Nottingham Tesco. Hours of it."

"You're still at the office? Where's Nkata?"

"Fetching us tea," she yawned.

"What's taking so long? I'd think you'd find the sale by the purchase record, or the activation."

"Doesn't work that way," Barbara explained. "The phone was one of several bought with cash and then activated some time later. Tesco and the carrier are two different companies."

"All right," Lynley nodded to himself. "So, uh, no second date?"

"Second? Oh, no. Though I'll say this for Hadi's kebabs – they got me out of the house," Barbara leaned back in the office chair, keeping one eye on the black and white recording.

"Kebabs, well," He realized he sounded vaguely relieved. Taking a deep breath, Lynley brought his mind firmly back to the case. "Go ahead and confirm Cressida and Geoffrey's flight itineraries from Sydney. They'll be in the Stephen Lawford case file."

"Yes, sir," she tucked the phone against her ear as she jotted in her notebook. "Oh - Lafferty called. The shoes Cressida was wearing did have mud in them, but nothing that conclusively ties to the area around the bridge."

"What about the clothes?"

"They didn't find them," she yawned again.

"Get some sleep," he ordered.

"I will," she promised. "As soon as I'm done."

XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX

When Lynley got into the office the next morning, there was a printed screen shot on his desk of a grainy Cheryl Lawford buying a disposable party phone. He held it up, reading where Havers had written the time and date in the margin.

He called her. "Good morning."

"Morning to you, too."

"Interesting that Mrs. Lawford wanted us to believe that she would have had nothing to do with her niece. Good work."

"Thanks. Oh, I found Geoffrey's itinerary but not his daughter's. Nkata is looking for it."

"Hmm. I could have sworn she said she'd flown in with her father."

There was a pause and then she appeared at his door. "Appears not, sir."

Tommy smiled a greeting and pushed his phone back in his pocket.

"No one told me we were coordinating today," Winnie Nkata ribbed the pair as he joined them.

"What?" Lynley looked down at himself and back at Havers. They were both in boots, jeans, and deep blue pullovers.

Barbara looked mortified for a moment but covered quickly. "Teach you for not reading office memoranda."

"Doesn't it just?" Nkata handed over a file folder. "Cressida didn't fly in with her father that day or even that that week. She got to London almost a month before him, in fact."

"Where was she all that time?" Havers wondered.

"Good question," Lynley grabbed up his leather jacket. His partner swiped the files before swinging her own wool one over her shoulders. They took the stairs down and pushed out of the building. The wind was harsh despite the rare sunshine. He unlocked the car and they both slid in quickly.

The housekeeper was presiding over a cleaning service when they arrived at the Lawford house. At Lynley's question, she reluctantly admitted that Cressida's friends had been 'a bit wild' the night before…and the nights before that, as well.

"But now Mrs. Lawford's to come home, things need to be put to rights."

"Mrs. _Cheryl_ Lawford?"

"Yes, sir," the housekeeper confirmed, breaking off for a moment to give specific instructions to one of the workers. "As Mr. Stephen's widow, I expect she has the rights to the house same as Miss Lawford and young Mr. Robert. Though," the older woman realized, "I suppose he's not the 'young Mr.' anymore."

"Is he here, too?"

"Will be next week. A Trust meeting, according to his message. Though I don't expect he'll stay; he hates town."

They looked, but Cressida herself was not in the house. The housekeeper told them that she and her boyfriend had woken and left the house a little earlier and she had no idea when they would be back.

Lynley and Haver stopped in at the solicitor's office that administered the Trust and, somewhat predictably, got nowhere. Then they crossed town to Battersea and headed down the ice stretch of mud to the houseboats.

The witness that the PC's had found was a young woman living somewhat Bohemian in a bright red houseboat. She was very 'live and let live' and wouldn't have noticed any of her neighbours except that the young woman who'd come around the night of Geoffrey's death had been dressed like a pop star.

"What do you mean?" Lynley asked, politely sipping a small cup of tepid tea.

"Glitter dress, big red hair and loads of makeup. And those shoes!"

"Red hair?" Cressida's hair was wavy and shades of bright blond.

"Like Rhianna," the woman explained.

"A wig, then," Havers made a note.

"One last question," Lynley stood. "Have you happened to see her since?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know," she shook her head. "It's not like I snoop."

"Right." The partners shared a look before stepping out but the climb back up to the road proved more treacherous than the way down had been. He lost balance and fell against Havers, who tumbled down several feet.

"Barbara! You all right?" He found her soaked through with mud and sporting some nasty abrasions on her hand where she'd tried to stop her descent.

"Ouch," she reached out to touch her head.

He saw a little blood on her cheek and inspected the scratch. "How hard did you hit your head? Perhaps I should call an ambulance?"

"Oh God, no," Barbara was appalled at the thought. "It's nothing. I'll be fine."

Tommy wrapped his arms around her small frame and helped her up. Immediately, she began to collapse again. "Twisted something, maybe," she grunted.

"Right." He dipped down and put her arm across his shoulders. With his arm firmly around her waist, Tommy half-dragged and half-carried her back up the hill. He landed his knee against the hill several times, but eventually they were both tucked back into the Bristol.

He released the brake and turned up the heat. Barbara leaned in gratefully, appreciating the warmth. 20 minutes later, they were in Belgravia and up the stairs. As they gingerly removed their jackets, Barbara looked around and realized for the first time that when he'd had described his home as unbearably empty and tidy – it really _was_. Much of the furniture and wall paintings were gone.

"This is how you've been keeping?"

"The family pieces have been shipped back to Howenstow," Tommy explained, helping pull her boot free. "The rest, charity shop. All right, do you need first aid or straight to a bath?"

"Bath."

With another assist from his arm, they moved her to the guest bathroom. He started the water before excusing himself.

Barbara wrestled off her muddy clothes and stepped into the tub with a sigh, sinking down deep into the water and feeling her whole body begin to relax. It was the better part of an hour before she limped into the kitchen in the long fleece robe he'd left for her - pink cheeks obscured by a pale purpling bruise.

"How are you feeling?"

"Been worse," she assured him, accepting water to wash down a Paracetamol tablet. It wasn't fair, Barbara thought as she hand back the empty glass, that he looked brand new in fresh jeans and an untucked dress shirt.

"Kettle's on," Tommy offered.

They settled on the settee, with a small bag of ice for Barbara's ankle. He started the gas fire and as he watched the reflection, Tommy was suddenly reminded of a pub in Yorkshire. "You know what I was thinking, just now? Our first case."

"Trial by fire, that what made you think of it?" she hazarded.

"Probably."

"You saw it right away – they put us together to fail."

"I know," he put his cup down on the table. "Lucky for us."

The corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. "Lot's changed."

"Yes. For one, you quit smoking."

"Don't start," she warned.

"Barbara…" he took a deep breath, changed tacks. "Look. I want you to know…there's no pressure."

She understood immediately what he meant. "Afraid of a harassment complaint?" she teased.

"Have I been that bad?"

"No," she was quick to assure him. "It was a joke. Really."

He turned to better face her, his face suddenly deadly serious. "But it's not a joke, is it? I am your superior. If I've made you uncomfortable in my company, then there's no excuse. I'm sorry."

"No," she repeated, her eyes even larger than usual. "Stop it."

"You have to know…"

"Tommy," she cut him off. "Stop. It."

Surprise pushed them both back as they stared at each other.

"About damn time," he breathed.

"Don't get the wrong impression," she cautioned.

"Then tell me what impression to get."

Barbara paused a moment before diving headlong into it; "You got together with Helen not so very long after Deborah married Simon. Helen was your best friend. What did you say? It wasn't like a passion, like what Narima had for her husband. Now Helen's gone. And I think you're still grieving. And you and I…are mates, yeah?"

"You think I'm using you?"

She flinched, and then met his glare straight on. "What else? All due respect, you and I make no sense. You're Lord Asherton and I'm Acton. Nies saw it, back then. And I know you see it, too, for all you like to pretend otherwise. It'd be a disaster. So risking our partnership? Risking my career? Just because you don't like being alone? That's rubbish."

"Right," he exhaled. With years of public school training, Lynley kept his face impassive. Gathering up their cups, he stood. "I'm going to head down to the market for a few things. When I get back, we'll review the case again. I'll drop your coat at the cleaners, if you like."

Havers swallowed, and wished she were anywhere else. "You don't have to do that, si-"

"Don't!" He couldn't bear it. "Please," he added, softly. "Is there anything I can get for you before I go?"

She shook her head. He looked down at her, at the light streaks in her drying hair and her small features and the pale skin exposed at her throat. Then he forced himself to leave.

XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX

Dusk had fallen by the time he returned. Barbara looked up as he came out of the kitchen with a tray.

"Hamburgers and chips," he offered.

"Thank God," she snatched one. "I'm starved."

"The bruise on your face has gone a nasty sort of aubergine. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Barbara admitted. She'd hopped around while he was out, washing her clothes and getting the files. Now her ankle was punishing her for the effort. Tommy fetched a footstool from his room and she breathed a sigh of relief to have her leg up.

"So," he glanced at the pile of reports. "What do you reckon?"

"I had an idea," she reached down for a photo of Stephen Lawford's office. "We never figured out what this was all about. But now, knowing that Cressida was in town, I'm beginning to wonder. Cressida blamed her father for growing up with little money, right? What if she came to London, maybe expecting her wealthy Uncle Stephen to square things?"

"He wasn't known as being a generous sort."

"Exactly. So…'Plan B'. I think she must have had something, got something, I don't know what. As blackmail. Something she had to find after his suicide."

Lynley nodded slowly and finished a bit of his sandwich. "That might be where Cheryl came in. She and Stephen were going through a very heated divorce. Maybe she helped Cressida, provided something in return for a piece of the profits? Something that she couldn't use herself or risk angering the court?"

"Precisely."

"Then with Stephen's death, Cheryl didn't need Cressida anymore – she got everything."

"Which left Cressida out in the cold with her father on her way."

"She panicked?"

"Yes," Havers agreed, her face lit up with enthusiasm. "I think we need to track down the boyfriend, see what he has to say. We know he's helped Cressida – the question is whether he's been a knowing accomplice or…"

"Dupe," Lynley finished for her. "I'll arrange to have him brought in tomorrow morning for an official interview." He pulled his phone from his pocket and made the call, smiling as he pretended not to notice her stealing some of his chips.

After he'd rung off, he turned and she gave him a quizzical half-smile. "You all right?"

"Yes, of course," he stood to clear their plates and then stopped. Took a deep breath. Sat back down. "Actually, no. I'm not."

"What's wrong?"

"You had your say. You were honest…you always are. But before we close the door on this for good, there's a few things I would like to discuss."

Her eyes went wide as Barbara felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. With a deep breath, she gave him a small nod. "All right, go ahead."

"When you fell down the embankment today, it was like…" he cleared his throat. "What I mean to say is, I know I can be high-handed at times. I've interfered in your life like I've had a right to, I've…"

"You've…?"

Frustrated, he inhaled deeply and began again. "Barbara, why do you think our partnership somehow means less to me than it does to you?"

"I…well…look at you. Look at me."

"There's your prejudice. Again. You know, I somehow thought we'd gotten past that."

"Prejudice? Are you joking? Half the Met may think you a ponce but the other half would line up to be your partner and ride those coattails, sir!"

"But none of them would be YOU," Tommy roared back. "Barbara, I know it's been a challenge for you to trust me, to let us get this close over the years. And if here is where we hold, then I promise you - it will be fine. But I don't think you were somehow destined to live your life alone. Whatever you say, I've seen how much you want a connection. A family. As do I. And I'm not presenting myself out of convenience – Christ! – or, well, emotional laziness for lack of a better description. You, Barbara Havers, are the best part of my days. You surprise me, infuriate me, make me laugh. How could you not know?"

She gave him a tiny shrug, but the look in her eyes gave him hope. He looked back - his eyes kind, and full of affection. Tommy turned his hand palm up on the cushion connecting them. Slowly, she slid her fingers forward until they were barely touching his.

___For a moment, all their history seemed to spark in the space between: __From the moment they met at the church to all the dark rooms and corners they'd been on cases ... Her mother's dementia, his brother's heroin addiction, their fight when he'd had her place painted and the thousand squabbles since… the moment the doctor had said his baby had died, the look she'd sneaked in that hotel room as he'd showered, the way her hair had caught the light at the party for the Thompson case, the way he'd tugged off her boot without needing to be asked, the crack of the shot before she'd fallen, the look he'd given her as he'd been taken away for excessive force, the smile she'd had when she'd asked him to dance. _

_____The hours they'd spent companionably driving from case to case – Glasgow and Yorkshire and Brighton and beyond. The million times he'd called her 'Sergeant' or 'DS Havers' to remind her of his seniority and the millions times she'd called him 'Sir' in that tone that said she wasn't having any of it. The mix of teasing and warning he'd used whenever she'd shown an interest in another man; the defensive cloak she'd pulled around her whenever she'd felt threatened. The way he'd known where to find her when her mother was dying; the way she'd found him after he'd buried his wife. _

"If this is where we hold," he repeated, "then it will be fine. I know I pushed you away when I was mourning Helen. I made the world wait on me. But, as you said, I'm back. And what I want, and perhaps it is pure selfishness, is you. I want you. I want whatever you will give, whenever you are ready to give it. And I will wait –wait for as long as it takes for us to figure out how it would be. If you say no, then everything will go back to how it was. If you say that we can't work together if there's something more personal between us, then I am willing to take a transfer. Happily, frankly, if the alternative is commuting to Kent. I love being on the job with you but I want us to have a chance, whatever it takes."

He fell silent, waiting for her reaction. As the silence stretched, Tommy's hand began to fidget every so lightly under hers. "This is the part," he told her with a small growl, "where you respond."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"That last bit was a lie, wasn't it?"

"No –"

"'Cos you'd just come back, you know you would. You always pop up, or call me in, or have me requested…"

"News flash," he shrugged, "I don't like being without you. And, if you haven't figured it out yet, this is me telling you that the condition's only gotten worse."

Barbara swallowed and looked up at him. She felt vulnerable, exposed. Whatever Thomas Lynley thought he felt about her, she'd seen his type of posh women over the years. Regretfully, she began to pull back. To return some sense to the desires that he'd fanned.

Tommy felt her retreat and his heart dropped. "Wait," he whispered. "One more thing…" he lowered his face to hers, closing his eyes just as their lips touched.

Barbara held herself still, afraid his romantic gesture was about to reveal an insurmountable awkwardness between them. Instead, a jolt of warmth spread like blood inside her cheeks and she found herself responding, slipping her arms around him as anchor against the dizziness. Tommy reached back, needing to drag her nearer. They pressed closer and closer as the electricity crackled them for several long moments until, at last, she needed to come up for air.

"Oh," she exhaled in a gust.

"Oh," he echoed.

This was real. The realization detonated in Barbara's mind as she stared at his face.

"This is real, between us," he said out loud. "Thoughts?" he prodded, still unsure. No matter the chemistry, the desire…the risk they would be taking was still loomed large.

"Uh," Barbara squinted in thought a second. "Just to be clear, as slow as I want?"

Tommy's face exploded into a smile. "Absolutely."

"And everything on the job stays exactly the same."

"Yes."

"What about Caro?"

"There is no more Caro. But that goes for you, too."

She gave him a look.

"No more dating services or territorial DC's," he clarified.

"Right. And if this doesn't work…"

"If this ends, it ends. No recriminations."

Barbara reached out and tentatively touched his chest with the flat of her palm. So rarely did she initiate physical contact that for a moment, he held his breath. "I may be no good at this," she confessed. "Any of it, I mean."

He knew what she meant. He also knew there was nothing he could say that would make her fears go away. "Barbara, it's not something you're born with like, say, an ear for music. Relationships take faith, and patience, and not a little practice." He covered her hand with his own.

"I want this, whatever it is between us, private while we figure it out."

"From our co-workers? Of course.

"From everyone."

"Everyone? How would that work? What about clerks, other customers at the takeaway shop, neighbours? We need to live, and not a lie."

"We don't need to take out an advert, either." She clamped her lips together and withdrew again to her edge of the settee.

Tommy rubbed his face with his hands. "This is untenable. Barbara, you DO realize that the person who would most disapprove of a relationship between us… is you? No one else bloody cares. Or, frankly, matters."

"Really? And what about Cornwall?"

"You mean my family."

"I mean Lady Asherton."

From her tone, he wondered briefly how she would ever handle the idea of being Lady Asherton. Then he put it out of his mind as borrowing trouble. "She truly likes you, you know."

"For a laugh, for being your colleague, sure."

"It's not conditional, Barbara."

"Says you," she muttered.

He could see all the emotions and details overwhelmed her. They were overwhelming him, too. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and just breathed for a few moments. Though she'd pulled her hand back, she gave him a little smile.

"How about this: we take it a day at a time. No adverts, but no lying. On the job, we're Havers and Lynley. Off the job, Barbara and Tommy – figuring it out as best we can."

Her large eyes caught his. "OK," she said at last.

"OK," he huffed a long sigh of relief. "Well. I don't know about you, but I feel like we just negotiated the Treaty of Versailles."

"But wasn't that a major failure?"

Lynley dropped his head back and laughed out loud for several long moments as Barbara watched, her expression bemused. "You? Have always been hard work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he mimicked with a quick kiss to her forehead. "But so very, very worth it. Now then, …I imagine you're still sore?"

"I am, yeah."

"Then why don't I take you home?"

Barbara nodded and he got up and headed to the bedroom. "What are you doing?" she called.

"Packing," he returned with a small duffel over his shoulder.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What happened to slow?" Barbara demanded.

"I'm kipping on the sofa," he explained. "You did hit your head, remember?"

"I'm not concussed," she argued.

"Barbara Havers, GP?" he countered. "If you complain less and move more, we could be in Chalk Farm in time for that detective show you like. You know - the one where the women can stun a psycho killer with nudity?"

"Right," she agreed. Barbara took his arm for support as they headed out the door. Settled back in the Bristol, he paused before releasing the brake.

"One more thing…" his forehead furrowed as he turned to face her.

She cut him off. "We've had enough talking for one night, don't you think, Tommy? Just take me home."

The look he gave as she said his name made her heart flip in her chest. "Home it is," he replied, and pulled the car onto the street with a satisfied grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning, Barbara opened her eyes to the sounds of Tommy rustling around in the kitchen. She made it to the sitting room with barely a limp.

"Sugar, yes?"

She nodded, accepting the cup gratefully.

"Sleep all right?" he sat down next to her.

"Yes." It annoyed her how uncomfortable she felt. "You?"

"Fine, thanks. Your bruise is fading; more of a mustard color. How do you feel? Any ill effects?"

"No."

"Would it help things if I talked about the case?"

"What?"

"I'm assuming that your uncharacteristically monosyllabic responses have something to do with our decision yesterday."

"I, uh…" Barbara stood. "I, uh… need to change."

"What? Why?" he asked with a glance at the clock.

"Look at us. Once is coincidence, twice is out of order."

As she closed herself back in her bedroom, he realized what she meant. They had both dressed in jeans and white shirts – though his was formal and hers less so. It was hardly an unusual combination and Barbara was making too much of it. But he would have bitten off his own arm before saying so.

By the time Barbara exited – in a pale green shirt – he'd rinsed their cups and packed up his bag. She tugged on her overcoat and hunted up her keys.

"Barbara?"

She pulled her bag off the hook and over her head.

"Barbara," his voice was a mix of warmth and demand.

She stared at the wall, completely at a loss.

He waited.

_She wanted to remind him that __she'd never done this before. She wanted to say straight out she had huge doubts about this whole thing. She wanted to yell at him for changing their relationship. She wanted to walk out the door. She wanted him to have stayed just the work-obsessed, aristocratic, paternalistic DI Lynley she knew and lov…_

She took a step towards him, and took a deep breath. Then Barbara reached up and pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth, softly. "Good morning," it was almost a whisper.

He smoothed the hair from her face and smiled. "Good morning."

Grabbing their things, they left for work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"My witness is the son of a senior firearms officer?" Lynley stood in AC Evan's office, disbelieving.

"Silver Commander and a bloody hero to boot," the older man clarified. "Step carefully."

"This kid may well have provided the drugs that killed Geoffrey Lawford."

"You're certain of that?"

"No."

"Can you put the boy on the riverfront that night?"

"No," Lynley admitted. "But Jamie Hassel is the key to Cressida – and we need that break."

"Find another way."

"Yes, sir," he knew when he'd lost a fight.

"Lynley?" Evans called as Tommy had his hand on the door, ready to walk out. "Michelle Tate has been confirmed as DS of SCD1. It will be announced Monday."

"Yes, Sir," he said, leaving the office without giving Evans the satisfaction of seeing him care.

XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX

"So you finally had a go at the guv, yeah?" Nkata teased her.

"I fell," Barbara admitted, hating it.

"_Fell_?" he probed.

"Ass over kite down by the moorings."

"Oi," Winnie gave the bruise a fresh look.

"I'm fine," she said gruffly. "Tell me about the forensics."

"Right, well, we've got fingerprint hits on the three," Nkata, swivelled in his chair to face computer monitor displaying the reports from ERU. "Boyfriend, Hassel, plus both Cressida and her dad. And 20 others who've been cautioned at one time or another – all kids. The guy who owns the barge has had it up for sale for over two years, buyers coming through…"

"Right," Havers sighed. "I don't see anything on the Viagra."

"Not a trace – but every other recreational…"

"Whoa, look at this," she pointed at the monitor.

"Look at what?"

"Oh, sir," Nkata acknowledged the Inspector's approach. "Evidence Recovery Unit found more of Geoffrey Lawford's Viagra."

"Where?"

"Floating in the Thames."

"Part of the detritus they sifted from the river's edge," Havers added.

"Loose pills or the canister?"

"Loose pills. And they'd clearly been altered."

"Good." Lynley nodded. It was proof of foul play. He glanced at Havers; "Let's revisit the Lawford house."

"Sir?" She questioned. "The Hassel interview?"

"Postponed," he retorted, walking off and expecting Barbara would follow.

The housekeeper let them in, her mood clearly brighter since their last visit. "Mrs. Lawford is in the sitting room, if you'll follow me?"

By now, they knew the way but indulged the housekeeper in observing formalities. Cheryl Lawford was, indeed, in the sitting room – but hardly sitting. She was surrounded by stacks of books, papers, odds and ends. She was also not alone; the solicitor from Nottingham was perched on a wing chair by a small writing table. Another woman was standing with Cheryl, holding up what looked like a portrait of either King George or Mad Eye Moody.

"Hello, Mrs. Lawford," Lynley nodded to her and her solicitor.

"Tommy?" George/Mad Eye lowered. Lush brown hair and a vaguely famous face appeared with a megawatt smile aimed at Lynley. "It IS you!"

"Kate?"

"You know my sister-in-law, Inspector?"

Tommy turned to Mrs. Lawford and back at Kate. The brunette carefully put down the painting and shook her head. "Sister-in-law stretches it, Cheryl. In my teens, Tommy, my mother was briefly married to Stephen's father."

"Geoffrey's father, too, then?"

"Yes, of course, but he was off to Oz by then. I think I met him at the wedding and never again. Cheryl – Tommy and I were at Oxford together."

"Kate, this is DS Havers. Havers, Kate Stevenson."

"It's Gardner, again," Kate corrected, nodding to Barbara.

For a moment, Barbara had a sense of déjà vu but quickly realised that she recognized Kate from the telly; she was some kind of reporter. The casually elegant woman gave Havers a quick smile before turning her attention back to Lynley.

"You're investigating Geoffrey's death? I thought it was accidental – heart attack?"

"That's what we're investigating," he replied carefully.

"I was told you had some questions for me?" Cheryl settled herself on the sofa. The solicitor had moved to stand behind her. With a glance at Kate, she added; "Anything you need ask me you can do so in front of her."

"All right. Mrs. Lawford, do you own a disposable party phone?

"No."

Barbara fetched the security print-out from the file in her bag. "We have a picture from…"

"I DID own one," Mrs. Lawford interrupted, her solicitor quietly clearing his throat. "But I lost it. Which is the point of it being disposable, really."

"There were several calls on that number to and from Cressida Lawford."

"May very well be," she shrugged.

"I thought you'd only met her the one time?" Barbara enquired.

"I don't recall saying that."

"In Australia?"

"That was the first time I met her. Memorably."

"So you've been in contact since her arrival in London?"

"She's asked for money, if that's what you mean."

"And that's all?"

"That's all it seems to come down to when dealing with Cressida," Cheryl Lawford gave a tiny, dignified shrug with her narrow shoulders and Barbara was reminded of greyhound – all sleek and smooth and skinny, with her bones faintly visible beneath her thin crew-neck jumper.

"You think Cressida had something to do with Geoffrey's death?" Kate wondered.

"Do you know where your niece is now, Mrs. Lawford?" Lynley kept his focus on the widow.

"She's not here," Cheryl answered.

"But do you know where she is?" Havers reiterated the question.

"I imagine with her boyfriend."

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"No."

"She _is_ still living here?"

"Legally, she has the right to - but I could hardly speak to her movements, Inspector. There's a message most days demanding money or information about the estate – that's the extent of our contact."

"Right," he sighed. Lynley and Havers made their exit back to the foyer. The housekeeper was waiting to show them out.

"Thank you," Barbara said, tucking her bag on her shoulder. She and Tommy headed out the door and into the chilly, clear morning.

"Tommy? Tommy!" Kate came jogging down the stairs after them, throwing on a black wool coat with a leather belt that would probably cost Barbara a month's pay. She caught up with them on the sidewalk, her breath coming out in little white puffs against cold. "A moment?"

Lynley turned to Havers; "I'll see you back at the Yard."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged, moving on. Barbara forced herself not to look back. Before…well, _before_, she would have given him a quick look for going off to talk with a reporter. But now? Now her concern about Kate the reporter was blended up with her curiosity about Kate the Woman from Lynley's Past.

Lynley's ideas of a personal and professional division between them had been airy-fairy, Barbara decided. She'd tossed and turned about it all the night before, aware that he'd been just on the other side of the wall.

And here was famous Kate, glammed up on a Saturday morning. And Barbara with a fading bruise, pale, chapped lips, and hair that never looked brushed even 10 minutes after the hairdresser. As she approached New Scotland Yard, she pushed it all out of her mind with the image of Geoffrey Lawford, facedown in the mud.

Tommy and Kate warmed themselves with tea at a small bistro around the corner from the Lawford house.

"Well," he said, meeting her eyes.

"Well," she parroted, a teasing smile on her lips.

"How are you, 'Miss Gardner-again'?"

"Well rid of him," she said.

"Then good for you."

"Very good for me," she agreed. "Look, Tommy – that wasn't a set-up. I had no idea you'd be coming by. I had no idea I'd be coming by, for that matter."

He appraised her sincerity. "What were you doing there, Kate?"

"Angling for an interview," she answered promptly. "Stephen Lawford's scandal was a huge story last year and Cheryl never spoke on the record because of the gag order. Now that he's dead…it would be a coup for the end-of-the-year special."

"So no real connection to the family?"

"Depends on what you call a connection. Stephen's found it useful to be related to a reporter over the years. I've found it useful to be related to an MP."

"Especially when his predilection for seducing sixth formers came to light?"

"He never rang me back after the story broke."

"Ah."

"Quid pro quo, Tommy. Geoffrey Lawford – murder?"

"Suspicious and unexplained death."

"Off the record?"

"Suspicious and unexplained death," he flashed his "_I'm charming and sorry to disappoint_" smile.

"Dating?"

"Pardon?" he sat back, surprised. "Geoffrey Lawford, you mean?"

"You know I don't," Kate's brown eyes were bright. "I was sorry to hear about Helen. Dreadful tragedy."

"Yes, it was." He met her gaze but didn't encourage her. She had been impossible to resist once upon a time.

"Oh," she sighed. "It's no use, is it?"

He easily remembered the day they'd me; it helped that she looked so nearly the same. Impossibly young, experimental, immortal. He also recalled that late winter afternoon when she'd confessed her unfaithfulness. How she'd smiled sadly and waited for him to agree that yes, of course, they would always be friends. How he'd followed the script, as expected – feeling himself freeze from the inside out.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I think we had our turn."

"Almost twenty years ago, can you imagine? Autumn in the Walled Garden."

"Autumn in the Walled Garden," he agreed blandly as he glanced at the time, wondering what Barbara was doing. "Tell me about Cheryl and Stephen's marriage," he prompted.

She pursed her lips before pretending to capitulate. That was a game the two had begun playing a long, long time ago.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why did Geoffrey Lawford go to the houseboat?" Winnie muttered as he and Barbara tracked through each piece of evidence for another time. The pair was attempting to keep their frustration at bay. Backtracking through the previous days, they hadn't been able to find a hint of what had precipitated the last hours of Geoffrey Lawford's life; no reason for the condom and nothing that pointed to contact with Cressida at all.

Barbara looked up from the phone logs. "Sunday: a couple of early calls to Sydney, Cheryl Lawford, Cressida, the housekeeper's mobile...and then a gap of three hours before he booked the taxi to the river."

"Just business instructions, that sort of thing." Nkata said, scrolling through Geoffrey's emails.

Barbara sighed. She stared at the records until a movement caught her attention.

"Progress?" Lynley asked, crossing his arms.

"Nothing much. Anything from Kate Gardner?" Barbara was proud of how nonchalant she sounded. How she breathed and didn't ask the dozen questions hammering about in her head like superballs.

"For one, Cheryl Lawford used to date Robert Lawford-Jones."

"What?" her head snapped up and she began sifting the new piece of information into everything she already knew about the case.

Lynley nodded. He'd seen Havers struggle when he'd walked away with Kate but he counted on her priorities; the case came first. "He's the one that introduced her to Stephen - at a family Christmas. By Boxing Day, Stephen and Cheryl were found together _in flagrante_. Robert stormed out, gutted. The engagement was announced barely a fortnight later."

"Bloody hell," Winnie shook his head.

"Kate says the marriage didn't last 6 months before Cheryl realized that all was not as it seemed with her husband. She was ready to divorce him but Stephen brokered some kind of private arrangement that kept Cheryl living well here in London and playing the part – until the scandal broke. Something happened then, Kate wasn't clear on the details. What is certain is that Cheryl was out."

"But she was definitely back and Lady of the Manor this morning." Barbara noted.

"What do you reckon?"

"I thought at first that Cheryl was Cressida's accomplice. Now I think she set all this up – from the go."

"Stephen's suicide? Geoffrey's murder?"

"More than that, I don't think she's finished yet. I think Cressida's running from her – not us."

"Or both," Lynley agreed. "_Now_ it's time to talk to the boyfriend." He and Havers shared a look, then she grabbed up her bag and the two headed out the door. Winnie watched them go before turning back to the monitor. It was time to see if he could track down where Cheryl Lawford had really been in Nottingham the day Geoffrey had died.

XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tommy glanced at Barbara whilst negotiating London traffic. Neither of them had said a word in 5 minutes. They'd pulled apart what came next and then lapsed into silence. She wasn't enquiring about Kate. He wasn't offering. "I was wondering how you feel about theatre?" he asked, at last.

"Films?"

"Stage."

"In general, you mean?"

"In specific. Tonight, actually. Denton's got a part in some kind of youth holiday programme and I seem to have purchased several tickets."

"Youth holiday programme?"

"He's been mentoring at a centre as a favour for some girl he likes. My understanding is that the part is Scrooge re-imagined as Donald Trump."

"You're joking."

"I wish I was." After Helen's death, Tommy had frozen out his manservant – valet, butler, social secretary, and major domo – just like he had everyone else. His appearance at Charlie Denton's performance was, then, an important gesture Tommy felt compelled to make.

"I had plans to be with Hadi."

"Bring her," he urged. "I'm sure she might enjoy it."

"All right," Barbara agreed, her reluctance thick in her voice. "Oh – hang a left, there."

He turned down a narrow street and they began looking at house numbers. Pulling in, they stepped up the walk of a neatly maintained semi-detached house. The door opened before they could knock.

"Lynley?"

"Inspector Hassel?" He pulled his warrant card from his pocket, but the ginger-haired man at the door waved it away.

"I know who y'er are, and you, too," he nodded at Barbara. "Come through."

They followed the spry man to the back of the house, where a younger version of himself was sitting at the kitchen table. "This is Jamie."

Lynley and Havers remained standing as the father slipped into a chair across from his son. "Ask your questions," he ordered.

"Jamie, do you know where Cressida is, now?"

The boy's expression was a mixture of defiance and misery. Unlike his close-cropped father, Jamie's hair was long and tucked back behind his ears. He wore jeans and a pullover, his Tin Tac bag at his feet. "I haven't seen her since Wednesday morning."

"All right, let's start before that. In your witness statement, you said you left Cressida at the houseboat the night before the body was found."

"Saturday night, yeah, we got into it. A bunch of us were pissing around, it was nothing. But Cressida…" he exhaled. "She's been stroppy since dad showed up. She's gorgeous, but it was just supposed to be a laugh – you know? So me and my mates buggered off."

"And left her there? When did you hear from Cressida next?"

"She was at the flat Sunday when I got back from tea with the folks. Maybe half-seven?"

"How did she seem?"

"Steaming. Not soused, just had a few. Wanted to…" he glanced at his father, "Make up."

"Screw," Inspector Hassel stated baldly.

"Yeah," his son agreed. "Next thing I knew, she was ringing me at 3 in the morning screaming her dad was dead."

"You don't remember her leaving?"

"No."

"Tell me about Wednesday morning,"

"Uh, she came by my flat the night before. My mates weren't having it; weekend's one thing but it's end of term and the drama…" the boy raked his hand through his hair and sighed. "So we headed back to her house, whatever. Wednesday morning, she woke me up saying we couldn't stay at the house anymore."

"Did she say why?"

He shrugged.

"And what did you say?"

"I was late for labs."

"Any idea where she would go?" Barbara asked. "Had she made any other friends that you know of?"

"Dunno."

"Right," Lynley cut in. "So you've tried getting hold of her since and had no response?"

He shook his head.

"We heard she was looking for money."

"She was always on about being skint – but who isn't?"

"What about the profits from your Viagra sales?" Barbara asked.

"We're done," Inspector Hassel stood up sharply.

"He told the…"

"OUT," the man insisted, pointing the way.

Lynley and Havers made their exit. They waited until they were back in the car to compare impressions.

"That's the future Prime Minister we just met," Barbara exhaled. "Didn't have a single straight answer."

"Didn't help that his father was there."

"Right," she rolled her eyes.

The partners discussed the probability of Jamie not hearing Cressida leave, the chances she would have had found another bolt-hole on no notice, the mystery of Cressida's disappearance altogether when she had access to Lawford house – why had she told Jamie she couldn't stay there when she had a legal right to it?

The Bristol rode smoothly through the Saturday afternoon traffic to Chalk Farm. They arrived at Barbara's flat with time to spare before she was to pick up Hadi.

He didn't expect to be invited in and he wasn't. Lynley released the brake and headed back to the Yard. Since leaving the Hassel house, DS Tate had already texted him. _Twice_.

XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Barbara treated Hadi to takeaway before they changed. Hadi helped pat some concealer on the worst bits of Barbara's fading bruise and then ran to her own flat to fetch some more makeup (Barbara's entire collection fit in a coin purse). Being practically a teenager, Hadi had firm opinions. Barbara was fiddling with the buckle on Hadi's shoes – they were new and resistant - when Lynley called to fetch them.

Looking at him in the doorway knocked the breath out of her. He was in a gray suit and cream tie. She'd probably seen him in it a dozen times, every inch the toff. But the look in his eyes, _that_ was overwhelming. Like he wanted to eat her up. Barbara stepped back to let him in, her heart pounding in her ribcage so hard she was sure she was shaking with it.

Tommy took in her hair pinned back at the sides, her simple black dress, the sparkle at her ears, and the legs usually hidden but now slipped into pumps. He brought his gaze back up to lock on hers. "Hello," he smiled.

"Hello."

Clearing his throat, he greeted the girl. "Hadiyyah, it's good to see you again."

"Thank you," the girl told him solemnly, her father's manner peaking out.

"Right, shall we go?" They bundled up in long wool coats and dashed to the car. The night was cold and clear, and the 30-minute trip was spent chatting about Hadi's school and Denton's acting aspirations.

Tommy held the doors for them as they entered the theatre building. There was a smallish crowd gathered, mostly proud parents greeting each other, and the trio negotiated their way through and found the proper aisle.

As they stopped at their row, his hand lightly touching the small of Barbara's back, he felt her go still. Looking over, he realized why.

"Deborah, Simon," he breathed. "How lovely, I had no idea."

"Barbara!" Deborah smiled. "And who is this?"

"Hadiyyah Azhar. Hadi, this is Simon and Deborah St. James."

They settled into their seats, with Barbara between Deborah and Hadi. With time before the show started, Deborah chatted. She'd always had an easy, frank manner that Barbara liked.

She asked Hadi about herself, quickly discovering her as Barbara's neighbor and a straight talker. They bonded over shoes before Deborah turned to Barbara with a laugh. "Charlie corralled you, too?"

"Uh, no, actually," she glanced at Tommy.

"Of course," the other woman agreed airily. "You look lovely, by the way."

"I look like a clown," she harrumphed. "All this make-up."

"No such thing. Although," she peered closely, "is something on your cheek?"

"Barbara's been injured in the line of duty," Tommy leaned forward and explained.

"I fell ass over tip nearly into the Thames," she was getting used to explaining by now.

"I felled her, more like," Tommy argued.

"The river, then…you've got that?" Simon queried.

"We do," he confirmed.

"Explains the call I got earlier," Simon mused.

"Oh?"

"Old acquaintances, looking for new information."

"Yes," Tommy nodded at his friend and changed the subject. Hadi gave Barbara a scrunched-face expression that told her what she thought of the adults around them and their confusing banter.

The three did have a kind of shorthand, Barbara knew. Helen had also been a part of it. But after enough years, Barbara spoke a pidgen form and at least no longer felt utterly adrift.

As the lights dimmed, Barbara touched Hadi's arm and they turned their attention to the production. The curtain lifted and there was Charlie was standing in a spotlight wearing a pinstriped suit and distressingly awful wig.

The cast, which ranged from a smallish 6 year-old through several older teenagers, had rewritten _A Christmas Carol._ Scrooge was now the star of a reality series from which he couldn't escape until he'd learned the right lesson. Parts of it had the audience laughing themselves to bits.

After the last bows had been taken, the group queued out slowly. Several times Barbara could feel Tommy just behind her. Her whole body was aware of him.

For his part, Tommy forced his hands to remain at his sides. He'd always felt a natural inclination to touch Barbara. To lean his arm against hers as they sat, or to reach for her shoulder. Keeping himself correctly distant – a posture that had been ingrained in him throughout his life – had become a challenge at times.

Now, off the clock and so close to her…it was an actual _itch_ in his palms.

He caught Deborah's appraising glance and realized, in an instant, that she _knew_. Before he could respond, Charlie burst through a small knot of people to greet them with wide smiles.

"Bravo!" Tommy was the first to step forward and shake Denton's hand. "Well done!"

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to see you."

As the others added their congratulations, Charlie Denton seemed to glow from the praise. The presence of his lordship, with the St. James and Havers, was a gift that he savored for a long minute before making apologies. His lady friend wanted Charlie backstage to meet parents.

The five pushed on through the crowd until they made the lobby. "There's a café on High Street…"

Barbara shook her head. "We should get back."

"Yes, of course," Tommy turned back and they made their goodbyes to the St. James before heading out into the cold night.

Except for Hadi's intermittent commentary – mostly about the costumes, a few times about some of the teenaged cast members – the ride home went quietly. Tommy helped the girl out of the back seat and walked them up to Barbara's door.

She turned the key, and then paused. "Thank you for the show."

He saw her expression and exhaled. Stepping back, Tommy watched Barbara and Hadi enter the building. Then he headed home.

He was on his second drink when the knock came. Hated the jump his heart made at the sound as he moved to open the door.

But it wasn't Barbara.


	6. Chapter 6

"It was either me or Deborah," Simon St. James announced as he stepped in.

"Glad it was you, then. Nightcap?"

"Absolutely."

They settled in the office. Simon took the wingback, Tommy the office chair. They contemplated the amber liquor as the clock ticked softly.

"Kate said you'd met."

"She was at the Lawford house when we got there; we went out afterwards. But I have seen her over the years, Simon. It wasn't a complete shock."

"On television," the other man snorted. "Across the room at certain occasions. Not quite the same."

"Kate was a long time ago."

"So, nothing?"

"Mild consternation."

"Right." Simon gave him a long, appraising look.

Tommy had grown used to his friend's not-so-subtle gauging. But by now, he would have thought himself pronounced – well, not healed. Maybe never fully healed. But at the least, _satisfactory_. With a shake of his head, he tossed down the last of his whiskey and contemplated a third.

"Tell me about Barbara."

Lynley looked at his friend, but didn't answer.

"Deborah says there's something there," Simon pushed.

"And if there was?"

"Tommy." Just that. Just his name. Said as only an old friend can do.

Tommy poured himself that third, a small one. "A couple of months ago, the Thompson case – girl taken, pushing against time. From the start, Havers and I couldn't agree on the culpability of the wife. She was wrong and it was like a weight on her. After we recovered the victim, everyone was celebrating; she was brooding. I remember thinking 'she'll come around'. Then one night we were walking to our cars and finally – _finally_ – she snaps free and smiles. And it was like…" he lifted his eyes. "It was like the world was set to rights."

"You're close, it's part of what makes you a strong team."

"It's more than that, Simon." Tommy took a long draught of his drink and put the glass down. "I think I'm in love with her."

The reality of having it said out loud surprised them both. Simon inhaled deeply, found his voice. "Does she know?"

"I made a hearts-and-flowers declaration."

"You?" Simon coughed.

"Yes, well. She had a similar reaction."

"I can imagine. Barbara doesn't strike me as one who does 'gooey'."

Tommy saw the unasked question in his friend's eyes. "She feels something, too. Just buried under layers of protective wool, and complicated by her concern about throwing a spanner into our working relationship."

"It's a fair point." Simon's expression was gentle. More than anyone else, he understood about longstanding trust being the spark to love. And how damned inconvenient it could be. "So what happens now?"

"We go on, I suppose."

Tommy took the last measure from his drink and looked down at the empty crystal as though just realizing what was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One could tell it was Sunday at New Scotland Yard only because the hallways were less crowded and the overall dress code was predominately jeans. Otherwise, the low hum and bustle of police work stayed constant.

"Sir?"

"Havers?" Lynley gripped the phone with one hand as he finished making notes at his desk. "I've just had a phone call from Nottinghamshire CID. Cressida Lawton has been found. She's in hospital; poisoned."

Barbara hardly knew what to say. "Will she survive?"

"Yes. She made a 999 call from Kingship before midnight," Lynley explained. "When they found her, Cressida was in the midst of a seizure. Best they can figure, there was cyanide in a smoothie."

Barbara glanced at Winston Nkata, who was driving them to interview a witness. "Uh, did you say poisoned _smoothie_?"

"From the evidence, it looked like she'd made a drink in the liquidiser from a container of fruits and greens and such – including what appeared to be cherry laurel leaves. They produce cyanide in the body. The DI asked if we suspected Cressida might self-harm?"

"She hardly seemed the type, but you never know."

"That's what I told them. Asphyxiation from cyanide is a particularly gruesome death; I can't imagine she would intentionally inflict it on herself. Nottinghamshire Forensics is still processing Kingship, they'll alert us with the results."

"Where's Robert, then? Was he there?"

"No. They attempted to contact him, but he wasn't answering his numbers. According to his supervisor, he's on his way here – to London. Not expected back until Wednesday."

She glanced down at her watch. It was half nine.

"Keep at it with the cab driver," he instructed. "I'm headed to Lawford house."

"Yes, sir."

"_Poisoned smoothie_?" Winnie demanded as she rang off.

"Cressida Lawton drank cyanide."

"Just when you think you've heard it all," he shook his head. "She'll survive?"

"Yeah, should do," Barbara pointed at a building up on the left and Nkata parked the car at the curb. They found the garden flat easily enough; a small man pulled open the door at their knock.

"Come in, come in," Tony Fouts urged, locking the door behind them with an effort against the wind. "I've just put the kettle on."

Nkata and Havers made their way down the narrow hall into an avocado green kitchen that looked like it had just popped in from the 70's. Tony Fouts was a fastidious man in his mid-40's, who'd arrived home the night before from holiday in Greece.

"My sister lives on Spetses, you've heard of it?"

The two shook their heads. Immediately, Tony turned on his digital camera and began showing off snaps of his sister, the water, the beach, his nephews, and some strange insects.

"Mr. Fouts," Barbara asked once he'd served them tea and offered them biscuits from a tin, "about last Sunday. You had a passenger?"

"You mean the fare from Queen Anne's Gate?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that was an odd one, if you don't mind my saying," Mr. Fouts shook his head, sadly. "But I hate to think it was me that delivered him to his murder…"

"Odd, how?"

"Well, right off – he didn't know where he was going. He had a paper from one of them sat-nav things and I told him, none of that can do for ya what The Knowledge can…if you'll just tell me where ya going'?"

"So, let me get this straight – he never gave you a destination address?"

"No, ma'am. Not so's you'd know it. Albert Bridge, he told me. 'Well, sir," I said, 'it's closed. I can take you as far as either side if you'll let me know which.' And he told me he was going to a houseboat and I said well, right, that's Cadogan Pier so I head to the Kings Road but he started kicking up a fuss. So up and down we went, him telling me where to turn every block. When I told him Old Church Street was one-way, I thought he would just about have a heart attack."

Winston and Barbara exchanged a look. "So where did he get out, then?"

"The Pig's Ear. But it was closed…"

"Mr. Fouts," Havers interrupted. "Was there anyone else out about, did you see? Did he mention who he was meeting?"

"Saw her, didn't I? Red wig, short coat – in that weather, mind – and all over him."

The idea of Cressida 'all over' her estranged father startled Barbara. "What do mean?"

"They were snogging, right there, and her hands on his bottom."

"All over, got it," Winston raised his eyebrows in agreement. "Anything else you can remember about her – height? Face?"

"She was mostly on the other side of the guy, and it was just a second. She was wearing gloves, come to think of it – red ones, if that helps. They stood out, if you get my drift."

Havers remembered that Geoffrey had died about 30 minutes after ingesting a Valium. "Could you tell me how long the trip took with all that?"

"Oh, not more than 20 minutes I would say."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Ma'am. It was my last fare before my vacation and I was watching the clock and, sad to say now looking back on what happened, happy to be rid of him."

"Was there anything else?"

Tony Fouts sipped his tea, slowly. "I been thinking about it since I got your messages, and maybe it's nowt, but I remember saying to myself when I saw that girl that it explained why he'd acted so eager."

"Thank you," the two stood and made their farewells.

Back outside, Havers and Nkata tried and failed to picture Geoffrey Lawford deliberately heading out for a romantic assignation with his tarted-up daughter. "There goes our theory," Barbara exhaled, pulling out her phone to call Lynley.

The DI listened as she encapsulated Tony's statement. "Maybe they were playing a game of some sort?" he ventured, when she was finished.

"Sir, it was freezing and raining last Sunday. Even if they were having a relationship like that – why leave the Lawford house on a night like that when they had the place to themselves? No, I don't think it was Cressida."

"Well, I have the evidence that just might prove you wrong."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Havers and Nkata joined the DI at the Lawford house directly. The housekeeper was sitting, straight-backed, on the sofa. Her disapproving expression quickly expanded to include the two newcomers. There was a piece of red wig, clearly burned, in a plastic evidence bag on the table.

"Mrs. Callahan was explaining how she knew the wig be Cressida's."

Mrs. Callahan was doing no such thing. Her lips were pressed together firmly, and her jaw stiff.

Cheryl Lawford entered the room a few seconds later with her favourite solicitor two steps behind. "Don't say another word," the woman insisted.

"Mrs. Lawford, were you present when Mrs. Callahan retrieved the wig from the fireplace?" Lynley asked.

"Of course not, but…"

"Then I have to ask you to step out, please."

Cheryl looked momentarily flummoxed before excusing herself. The solicitor sat next to the housekeeper and murmured in her ear. He caught Lynley's eye and nodded.

"I ask you again, Mrs. Callahan. Why do you believe the wig was Cressida's?"

"Well, there's no one else, is there?"

The answer didn't ring true to anyone in the room. Barbara sat down on the chair across the aging housekeeper and flashed her trademark sympathetic smile; the one that said she understood Mrs. Callahan's struggle. Lynley was happy to see that the bruise on his partner's face had faded to just a few spots along her cheek.

"What did Cressida do that's got you so chary?"

Barbara's 'working class camaraderie' approach worked – it usually did. "She's done it before, hasn't she?" the housekeeper answered. "A few days after Mr. Stephen passed, I came in and here she was burning things. _His_ things!"

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, I couldn't see much of it. Photos it looked like. Ordered me out quick enough. Nothing but ash when she was through."

"Mrs. Callahan, you said no one else was living here when Stephen died."

"She wasn't! She'd come to visit and then left without a word. Back again after her father arrived like butter wouldn't melt," she sniffed and looked away. "When I came in this morning and smelt this fire, I knew she'd come back and done it again."

"But have you seen Cressida?"

The housekeeper reluctantly shook her head.

"Mrs. Callahan," Lynley gave her an encouraging smile. "One last thing, why are you here on a Sunday? Shouldn't this be an off day?"

"Mr. Lawford-Jones left a message that he was coming today instead of tomorrow. I wanted to get his room ready."

"Right," Havers stood up and looked at Lynley. The three detectives made their goodbyes.

"How was Cressida here burning that wig AND in Nottingham making herself a poisoned health drink?" Winston stated the obvious question.

"She wasn't," Tommy handed the bag to Nkata. "Get this to Lafferty. We need whatever he can find, as soon as he can find it."

"Will do, Guv," Winston headed to his car. Barbara and Tommy crossed the street and got into the Bristol.

"Cheryl killed Geoffrey," Lynley told his partner.

"Yeah. So Cheryl started all this by using Cressida to – we think – blackmail Stephen into a better divorce settlement," she theorized. "But then somehow Geoffrey found out?"

"And Cheryl killed him and set up Cressida to take the blame? Two birds with a single stone, as it were."

"Which means, when we interviewed her up in Nottingham…"

"She must have arrived not long before we did." He finished her thought as he began driving down King's Road. He gave Nkata a ring with the additional assignments of re-checking Cheryl's movements the night Geoffrey was killed and finding an officer to watch the Lawford House for Robert Lawford-Jones' arrival.

They parked on Old Church Street and walked towards the Pig's Ear. The wind was frigid even against their coats as they looked around for possible CCTV cameras. Havers took notes of locations as Lynley talked it through.

They passed the pub and kept going. At the end of the Old Church was a small dip towards the Thames. The wind grew crueller as they turned left on Chelsea Embankment towards the houseboats. "This was a long way to walk in bad weather," Barbara had to raise her voice slightly to be heard.

"It is," Tommy put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area. "No CCTV from here to the Chelsea Embankment, that we know from the original canvass."

They shared a look and then headed back up Old Church Street, ducking in against a building to ring the Yard to follow up on the cameras they'd seen. Once they'd finished, they walked towards where they'd left the Bristol. In front of the Pig's Ear, Tommy stopped Barbara with a touch on her elbow. "Lunch?"

"It's a gastro pub," she complained. "All leeks and guinea fowl."

"What's wrong with leeks and guinea fowl?" he countered, holding the door for her.

"Posh meals," she complained, giving in.

"I'll have them hold the carrots," he promised, almost a whisper in her ear.

She couldn't help but laugh.

They ordered, forgoing their usual drinks for hot coffee. Even with her hands wrapped around the warm mug, it took several minutes before Barbara felt warm again.

"Proper Christmas weather," he said, glancing out the large window as the flurries started falling.

She exhaled then met his eyes, his invitation to spend the holiday with him at Howenstow looming like the sword of Damocles over her head. "Sir."

He lifted his eyebrows. A part of him was shouting inside. _She'd fixed those big green eyes on him for so many years. Looked at him as though they two had a secret no one else shared. And now what he saw there was…what? Apprehension?_

Well, he was damned if this was going to become some kind of a farce between them. "Barbara, it was a comment about the _weather_."

"Of course," she responded, sipping her coffee.

"Here you go," their server interrupted, sliding plates in front of the couple. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you," he flashed the woman a quick, dismissing smile.

"Well?"

"Who puts herbs on chips?" Barbara groaned. She turned back to him as she reached for the salt with a look that said; _I'm trying. I don't know what I'm doing_.

He knew that look; he'd become quite good friends with it over the years. Barbara Havers was brilliant at so many things, especially on the job. But when it came to dealing with people on a personal level, she tilted at every windmill she crossed.

Sometimes he suspected that part of the reason she'd been keen on him all along was that there'd been that unbreachable gap between them. He'd been as safe as houses. Now he'd thrown a bridge over, and she was at a loss.

"Posh gastro pubs," he answered, biting into his lunch. "You know, the guinea fowl's quite good."

She rolled her eyes and ate another chip.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Winston and Barbara were back in the audio-visual room, scrolling through CCTV videos. It took over an hour, but they finally hit gold.

"There she is," Havers paused the play. It was grainy, and she was facing away from the camera, but there was no mistaking the short wig and shorter dress.

Winston marked the time. "You can't identify her from this. It's as if she knows where the camera is," he complained.

"She does," Barbara agreed.

They switched to a security feed from a building halfway down Old Church Street towards the Thames. It was a brand new system that had been installed just the summer before. The property management company had been proud of their data, and with justification – the cameras where installed in overlapping arcs, shot in colour, and made out features clearly. So when Geoffrey and Cheryl Lawford had walked by, heads close and hands entangled, the video had been captured clear as a bell.

"Whoo," Winnie breathed, take a screen capture and printing it.

"Sir!" Barbara jogged to his office with the picture. She walked in, belatedly knocking, and realized only as she stepped into his office that Kate Gardner was stepping back from Lynley's desk in surprise.

"Sir," she repeated, carefully folding the paper in her hands to keep it from the reporter's observant gaze. "Shall I come back?"

"No," he ground out. "Press Office, Kate. And don't get lost this time."

Kate gave him a wink and slipped past Havers. Rubbing his cheek in frustration, he waited until Gardner was out of earshot before holding out his hand for the print-out. "She wants an exclusive story," he explained.

"Of course," Barbara agreed, mildly.

Tommy stood as he realized what he was seeing, "Let's bring in Cheryl Lawford."

They called the uniformed officers for transport assistance and headed out the door. Twenty minutes later, Lynley and Havers were at the Lawford house door. He realized as he did that there were an inordinate number of people milling around. Paparazzi, to be precise.

"I think the PM is giving some sort of announcement at the club across the street," Havers said.

The arrival of the uniformed officers in the official vehicle initiated a wave of curiosity to their side of the street. When Cheryl answered the bell, the sounds of cameras clicking became as steady as a swarm of bees.

"Cheryl Lawford? I'm arresting you for the murder of Geoffrey Law-" that was as far as he got before the shouting started.

It took several minutes before they had her through the press and into the back of the car. Barbara rode along with Cheryl. Tommy hadn't gotten 5 yards through the shouting throng before Winston Nkata hailed him.

"I tried to ring," the DC said, running to meet up with Lynley.

"Chaos," he indicated the dozens of photographers and reporters. "What did you need to tell me?"

"I found this on the video: the time is about 5 minutes after Cheryl and Geoffrey walked by," He handed the DI another print-out. As he unfolded it, there was a shout from across the street, calling him. Lynley turned; a PC was waving to him and pointing. He glanced down at the paper in his hands and then where the PC was indicating. "Bloody hell!" he swore, tossing the paper back to Nkata as he began to run full out down the street.

Winston, the PC, and several paparazzi joined in. They swung around the corner where, finally, Tommy tackled Robert Lawford-Jones under the watchful (if a bit grimy) eye of Queen Anne.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Havers exited the interview room several hours later with a sense of satisfaction. Robert Lawford-Jones had confessed to helping Cheryl kill Geoffrey.

He'd started out determined to avoid responsibility for Cressida's poisoning. "I didn't know she was there," Robert had repeated, more than once.

"Your fingerprints are on the gloves," Barbara had argued.

"Because there are mine," the other man had insisted. "And I know the fruit is safe. Of course I do – I'm a ranger, for Christ's sake. That daft girl broke into Kingship-"

"Which she has a legal right to?"

"Fine, yes. But don't you get it? She poisoned _herself_, Sergeant."

"You helped kill your cousin and then tried to kill his daughter," Havers accused, disgusted. Before Robert could argue further, she'd slid the screen shots from the security video across the table.

Cheryl and Geoffrey, walking closely. Robert, following, his hoodie almost covering his face against the weather – but not quite. And then, less than an hour later, Cheryl and Robert walking hand-in-hand back up Old School Road.

The ranger had dropped his head into his hands and begun to shake. "Oh, God," he'd whispered. "I didn't want to… but he was _forcing_ her, don't you understand? After all she'd been through?"

Barbara nodded, and pressed for the details. At last, she had his confession. When she stepped out to the hallway, the new DSI was waiting for her.

"Good work," Michelle Tate watched Robert through the glass for a long moment before turning and crossing her arms.

"Uh, thanks," Havers tucked some papers into a folder and signed the slip. "And congratulations, Ma'am."

"Thank you," the auburn-haired woman responded as she assessed the DS. The two women were alone in the corridor. "Barbara, please feel free to come to me if your current assignment is no longer a good fit."

Havers looked up at her new Supervisor, knocked for six. "Yes, Ma'am."

"I respect loyalty, of course," Michelle gave Barbara a hard stare. "But you're a strong DS. I checked - the last nine months, your record has been quite good. A bit of advice; don't let anything or anyone change that."

"No, Ma'am."

After the woman had walked away, Barbara allowed herself a deep breath and an internal '_What the bloody hell was that_?' It was beginning to feel like everyone was pushing for her to leave Lynley. Like there had been some kind of bizarre rupture and the universe and it was HE who was suddenly the weight on HER. As if. As….

Rubbing her eyes with her fingers, she moved down the hall to the other interview rooms. Found the one where the DI was interviewing Cheryl. She hadn't broken like Robert; instead she was almost maniacal in her belief that no one would be able to prove anything. Her solicitor sat beside her, stoic as ever.

"That isn't you, walking with Geoffrey?"

Cheryl shrugged.

"Was that a yes? Or a no?"

"You tell me, Inspector," Cheryl responded smoothly.

Barbara shook her head. The widow spoke RP, not a trace of Nottingham in her speech. Tweed jacket, pencil skirt, fully made up. Like she'd been ordered up from a catalogue of prospective MP spouses.

She knocked, once. Tommy left the room and met her by the window. "Yes?"

"Robert's confessed."

"Good work. He implicated Cheryl?"

"Oh, yeah," she handed him a copy of the report. "Claimed it had to be done to save Cheryl from Geoffrey's unwanted advances. He actually saw something noble in her slipping the pills – taking action on her own, so to speak. But he was the one that held Geoffrey down as he died. With that and the forensics, the CPS should be well pleased."

Normally, this was when of them would turn to the other and suggest a drink down the pub. "I'm going to give it another go," Lynley said, instead. He gave her a tiny nod and went back into the room.

Havers stood at the window for a short while, watching him work. Lynley was an outstanding interviewer and she learned something every time. A part of her, she knew, was waiting for him to finish. To step out into the hall with that exhausted, satisfied expression he had at then end of a case and say, _How about that drink now?_

But eventually, Barbara realized he wasn't ending the questioning anytime soon. She had to head home. She was already tired and if she didn't tend to some things she would be wearing mufti to work and eating toast and jam for every meal.

She buttoned her coat and pulled on her gloves before stepping back out into the cold. Drove to the Tesco near her flat, stopped for petrol, and popped in to the local chip shop. Once home, she managed to carry everything to her door in a single trip.

It was the everyday chores of life for the next hour or so. Barbara ate her chips while unpacking her groceries, doing her washing, and setting up her ironing. She was enjoying the show on the telly. It was just an average Sunday night at the end of a productive week. Alone, in her flat.

_The way it was supposed to be_, she told herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lynley stood with Tate and AC Evans as the formal announcement was made the next morning. Havers stood with Nkata, applauded on cue, and then found her desk to begin ploughing through some of the paperwork that was a DS's lot. It was just approaching lunch when a young man found her just finishing up.

"Heya."

She swivelled in her chair and saw DC Lee Turner standing there with a big smile. "Hello yourself," Barbara looked up at the young man with a genuine smile. He was a cheeky bastard, but a friendly face. "What brings you to this place?"

"Transfer approved. _Finally_." He fiddled with his tie a sec, then straightened and looked about.

"DC Turner?" Winnie stepped over from the other side of the room and introduced himself. "Our workstations are over here," he pointed to a long counter crowded with laptops and officers. The castes were clear: Investigators and above grades had offices of corresponding size, DS's and consultants had desks, and DC's and such shared even tighter quarters.

In a world of mobile workers and (dreaded) hot-desking, however, Nkata was quick to point out that there was often space aplenty. Turner was given the tour and then set to work. After another hour or so at it, Havers finally completed the last of her files. She signed off the system and headed back to see how Lee was faring.

"Settling in, then?"

Turner looked up from the monitor and grinned. "Brilliant, thanks."

"We've got Cheryl Lawford's mobile records. She was smart; turned it off completely during the hours before and after Geoffrey's murder," Nkata leaned back, weaving his hands together behind his head. "Same with Robert."

"But…" Turner held up his finger. "London traffic cameras to the rescue. We don't have them leaving but we found them arriving – 10:52PM, Victoria Embankment."

Havers peered over Lee's shoulder, mildly impressed how quickly the DC had come up to speed. "You can't tell who's driving?"

"No," he shook his head. "Just the reg number, make, and model."

"We expect extra miracles on the first day," she chided with a laugh. "Lunch?"

"Absolutely," Winnie grabbed up his coat. Turner followed. They popped down to the copper's local, just a couple of blocks away in the cold. It was a happy meal, the trio somehow finding much to laugh about.

Once they'd returned, Havers took the printouts and files out to Lynley's office. She was surprised to find it locked. Pulling out her mobile, she pressed her speed dial.

"Havers?" he answered on the second ring.

"Sir, we have a traffic camera capture of Robert's car the night of Geoffrey's murder." She walked him through the new details, surprised when Lynley told her to make sure that Michelle Tate got the updates.

"You're out for the day?"

"I'm out until after the holidays," he replied simply. "I'm just at Hogarth Roundabout."

It was the junction from the M4 to the M5; it meant he was more than halfway to Howenstow. "Oh," she answered, a little confused. "I wasn't aware you were leaving today."

"Was there anything pressing?"

"What? No," she assured him.

"Barbara, why don't I give you a ring later tonight?"

"Yes, of course," she wasn't sure she meant that, but it came out of her mouth anyway.

She headed over to the DSI's office. Tate beckoned Havers into her office and pulled out a couple of newspapers. "You made the news," she pointed to pictures of Cheryl Lawford's arrest. Both Lynley and Havers were clearly in the shot.

"Yes, Ma'am," Barbara wasn't sure how she was expected to respond.

"Well," Tate moved them away and took the files from the DS as though it was nothing. She had Barbara stand as she skimmed the information. "Good."

"Thank you."

"I heard you made quite a favourable impression on our newest DC."

"Lee Turner? We worked together briefly, ages ago."

"The case on which you were shot, I believe."

"Yes."

"The same case that cost Lynley's wife their child."

"Yes."

Michelle appraised Barbara's expression shrewdly. "Turner's a bright investigator but could use some maturity in his dealings. You'll mentor him?"

"Me?" Havers blinked in surprise.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, Ma'am. Not at all."

"Good. Let me know how he gets on."

"Yes. Of course," Barbara left the office with a bemused expression.

By the end of the day, the team was deep into assisting with another case while juggling the final details of the Lawford murder. Barbara said her goodbyes to Nkata and Turner and headed home. So close to the solstice, it had been dark nearly an hour by the time she got into her car and headed to Chalk Farm.

When her mobile rang at half seven, she was soaking in a tub. Biting her lip, she let it ring out without answering. At half nine, Tommy rang again. And again, she couldn't quite bring herself to respond.

At 10, he texted her; "Ring me when you can, please."

She held the mobile in her lap as she sat, wondering how she felt and what to do. Before slipping under the covers, she texted back; "Maybe tmrw. Done in. Good night."

He replied in moments; "Sweet dreams."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tuesday followed Monday, and Wednesday followed Tuesday. The team stayed busy, Lee worked hard to fit in. Stuart showed up with the DNA results confirming that Cheryl Lawford had worn the wig found by the housekeeper. Barbara found some enthusiasm for the news, but barely.

Lynley didn't try to phone again. She sent short texts, delaying tactics as Barbara tried to untangle her emotions. She knew the ball was in her court but every time she thought of Tommy as more than her boss, she felt her heart squeeze so hard that Barbara shook.

Having him reach out to her, _kiss her,_ was like having her secret thoughts read in public. It was an intensely private thing to imagine a boss, a strictly platonic friend, as a lover. He was never supposed to know. No one was.

She hated him for pulling down the Chinese walls. She hated herself for being a coward. She hated Helen for dying. She hated _feeling_ all the time: so much confusion, and guilt, and embarrassment. For knowing she'd wanted him like a schoolgirl crush and then running when he turned to her. For being more comfortable with the idea of him then the possible reality.

By Friday morning, there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. Turner and Nkata worked the new case with Havers until after lunch and then she told them to get out. The department Christmas Party was in full swing and there was no reason the two should be as miserable as she was.

Pulling her bag over her head, Barbara prepared to slip home.

"Leaving so soon?"

She jumped in surprise. Standing on the other side of elevator banks, Stuart Lafferty flashed her a grim smile. They stepped into the car together.

"Not a party mood, I take it?"

She shook her head.

"Me, neither," he confessed. "Come on, I'll stand you a pint."

The doors opened at street level and the pair jogged a few blocks to a small pub Stuart liked. They ordered their drinks and found a corner table to settle into.

"How are you?" Barbara asked after a few long swallows.

"Miserable," he stated baldly. "My wife's gone to her mum and dad's for Christmas. Possibly through Easter."

"Oh," she looked at the path man with sympathy.

"I knew she was unhappy with my hours," Stuart shrugged. "But short of quitting the job, I'm not sure what would make her happy."

"Would you?" Barbara asked. "Quit, I mean?"

"I dunno, really," he rubbed his cheek in thought. "If we had kids and the like, I suppose I might want a different kind of balance. But the way things are…" he shrugged.

"Sorry," she offered, sincerely.

"What about you, then? Decide what to do about Tommy?" Barbara was gobsmacked and it made Stuart laugh out loud. "I'm Irish, not stupid."

"So obvious as that?" She choked out, terrified.

"No. NO," he promised, seeing she was in real distress. "Barb, I've worked with you two a long time. Seen how you are together. You called me when he was arrested, remember? You risked your job for him."

"So did you. Doesn't mean the two of you are registering as civil partners."

"Have it your way," he looked into his glass, swirling the last of his pint.

She got up and fetched another round. Sliding the fresh glass in front of Stuart and taking her seat again. "The thing is…" Barbara cleared her throat. "There's this old phrase, yeah? If it's not broke…"

"Don't fix it," he finished for her. "So you're saying you're afraid of it all blowing up in your face?"

"Terrified," she admitted out loud. It felt good to say it, too. "He's not much better than I am at relationships."

"Which is to say, shite? Yeah, it's a common problem in our line of work."

"Right," she remembered why Stuart was drowning his sorrows. "I don't think it can be all one person – work AND life. Or I don't think I can be all with one person. I don't know. He…" she sighed. "He's a flipping Earl, Stu."

"I'd heard," he responded dryly.

They fell into a companionable silence as they finished their drinks. A troubadour settled on a bare patch of floor under a light and began singing Irish ballads, strumming vibrantly on his guitar. He was quite good, and Barbara moved her chair around beside Stuart's as a crowd began to form.

After the performer had finished his first set, the pair ducked back out into the clear, cool night. They strolled back to the Yard, feeling lighter than before. Stuart unlocked his bike and gave Barbara a look. "Where's your car?"

"Took the Tube."

He dug up an extra helmet. "Get on."

"Not on your life. Or mine," Her feelings about the motorcycle were well documented, thank you.

"Afraid?"

"Of course!"

"So, that's how it is, then?"

She levelled him a furious glare, then snatched the helmet from his hands. Before she could change her mind, Barbara hopped onto the motorcycle and wrapped her arms around his waist.

The next thirty minutes, her heart beat from the back of her throat. It was dizzying, scary, freezing cold, exhausting, and fast. As they rounded one bend, she caught herself smiling.

"Careful, " he warned after they'd pulled to a stop by her flat. He quickly jumped off and helped her down. "It's kind of like riding a horse."

"Oh yeah, plenty of those in Acton," she muttered.

"Or a bike. You've got to find your sea legs," Stuart kept his hands on her arms until she was steady on the ground. "You had fun," he accused, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Never," she argued, trying not to show it.

They got her into her flat a little precariously, and she collapsed on the sofa without even taking off her coat.

"Where's a night cap?" he queried.

"Cupboard by the fridge," she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She could still feel the pulsing beat of her heart.

"Do one thing every day that scares you," Stuart quoted some American as he handed her a drink. He took a sip from his own as he sat beside her.

"That counts for the month," she decided.

"You're addicted now. Next thing you know, you'll be shopping for a 250CC."

"Vespa," she corrected. "Gateway drug."

He snorted. "Did we ever eat anything?"

"No, come to think of it."

"I'll cook," Stuart told her, getting up. He dropped his jacket on the hook and started milling about in the kitchen. On the other side of the pony wall, Barbara listened as he kept up a commentary on the Lawford case, his skills with a knife, and his opinion on the new DSI (Supervisors shouldn't look like supermodels.)

Barbara, more used to quiet conversations with Lynley and long bouts of silence in her own company, slowly accustomed herself to his chattiness. She pulled herself up to lay the table just as he pulled the pan from the oven.

"Frittatas," he put a plate in front of her and one down for himself.

"Traditional Irish fare?" she teased.

"Oh, yes, that's right – I forgot to boil it." He winked.

It was delicious. Nothing like it had ever come out of her oven before; she wasn't convinced that he hadn't somehow had a restaurant deliver it when she wasn't looking. "Amazing," she told him.

"I have talents," Stuart agreed.

After she'd washed up, they settled back on the sofa with their drinks and the telly. It was after 11 when a pulsing awareness began to press at the back of Barbara's neck. "Stu," she began, feeling tongue-tied.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Pulling back slightly, their gazes caught. He leaned in again and pressed his lips to hers. She closed her eyes and let the warmth, like Scotch, drift through her.

"Barb," he sighed, pulling back but taking her hand in his. "I swear, I didn't come here to make complications. Life sucks quite enough already."

"Yeah."

"That was really nice but..."

"You're married," she stated.

"And you're hung up on Tommy."

They stared at each other, as though meeting for the first time. He tugged on her hand and stood up. "Friends?"

"Yeah," Barbara nodded. "Friends."

Stuart leaned down and switched off the light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stuart was still asleep, one arm thrown over his head, when she was awoken by the sound of her mobile. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she grabbed the phone; slipping out the door of her bedroom.

"Hi," she said, softly as she closed the door.

"Good morning," Tommy's voice rumbled in her ear. "You all right? You sound funny."

"Yeah, fine," she said, clearing her throat. The pounding behind her eyes was making her whole body ache. "Fine," she repeated, digging out the Paracetamol tablets.

"This has gone on too long," he told her.

She swallowed two tablets with water, and choked. Holding the mobile away from her face, she coughed a few times before feeling her throat clear.

"Barbara? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Just maybe a little too much to drink last night." She put the kettle on and began hunting a clean cup. Thought about it and found a second one.

"That's right, the Christmas Party."

"Actually," she admitted. "I didn't go."

"No?"

"No." Tea, sugar, spoon. Barbara pulled a jumper from the closet, put the phone on the counter, and pulled it over her head. Grabbed the mobile back up.

"I'd say; do you want to talk later? But later keeps seeming to not happen."

She re-tied the drawstring on her cotton pants and ducked into the bathroom. Using her hands to comb her hair, she pulled it into a clip. Rubbed a wet hand around her face. Put a dab of toothpaste on her tongue.

"Barbara? I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Would you please tell me what you're thinking?"

"Right now?" she forced herself to inhale, exhale. Examine her thoughts. Pause.

"Barbara?"

"I'm here," she promised. "Last week, before you arrived to pick up Hadi and me for Charlie's performance? I had this moment of just..."

"I was worried you were going to cancel," he told her when her voice drifted off. "Since what happened with Julia and the Obornes. Actually, even before that – when I pushed you away, told you my life was none of your business-"

"Damn business," she corrected.

"Yes. I thought… I thought I'd lost you. Lost your respect. Your friendship."

"You're joking. After I smuggled out the evidence…"

"And I accused you of visiting so you could spy on me?"

"You weren't exactly yourself. We're still friends, sir."

It was the 'sir' that killed him. In the library at Howenstow, Tommy leaned forward at his desk. "I know I said I'd wait. And I would. I will. But…" he couldn't bear to put the words between them. Not yet.

He heard a noise at her end. Then her voice, muffled as though she had her hand over the phone. Then a masculine rumble, a bark of laughter.

Tommy glanced at the clock. Watched the second hand sweep the numbers. 8:16 A.M. So, maybe his words were superfluous, after all.

Inhaling deeply, he looked down at the dial pad of his mobile. And pressed 'end'.


	7. Chapter 7

"You weren't exactly yourself," Barbara turned as the bedroom door opened. Stuart was chafing his face with his hands as he looked back and forth. She pointed at the bathroom and he smiled his thanks. "We're still friends, sir," she assured Tommy.

She heard him sigh on the other side of England and for a moment wanted to shout in frustration. '_Sir'_ wasn't always a buffer between them. Sometimes it was her deepest form of affection, or respect. Sometimes, it was just his name – more than half a dozen years into a partnership that had seen them both at their best and worst, in tight quarters and surviving separations.

"I know I said I'd wait," Lynley told her softly, the deep timber of his voice doing funny things to her aching brain. "And I would. I will. But…"

Stuart exited the bathroom rubbing his head. "Tell me there's tea and Paracetamol."

She tucked the phone against her shoulder and offered both.

"Ta," he groaned.

"I'm on the phone," she warned.

"Oh, is that what that thing is?" He swallowed several tablets and closed his eyes. "Give Tommy my love, then."

Barbara practically suffocated on the thought.

"You're scarlet," Stuart laughed, then winced. He waved a hand at her and collapsed on the sofa with his tea.

She moved into the bedroom for a little privacy. "Sorry about that," she told Lynley. "Actually, I wanted to…" There was only silence. Barbara pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it. The call had ended.

"Damn," she muttered, frustrated.

Stuart looked up as she walked back into the room. "He gave out on you?"

She sat down on the sofa next to him, bunched up inside and out.

"Oh, _craytur_," Stuart sighed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Judith arrived at Howenstow after breakfast. "How was Majorca?" Tommy asked, feeling his spirits lift at the sight of his sister.

"Hot, crowded."

"Crowded?"

"Stephanie's new boyfriend from University joined us."

"Unexpectedly, I gather?" He helped her carry her things upstairs.

"And just as unexpectedly took her home to Sussex for the holidays."

Tommy turned towards his sister with raised eyebrows.

"It's been just her and I for so long; I suppose I must get used to the idea that everything changes."

He nodded sympathetically as she perched on the bed. He matched her news of Stephanie with some of their brother; "Peter rang, he's staying in rehab for the holidays."

"I thought this was more preventative than curative? Well, if it's what he needs…"

"Just as I thought," Tommy agreed. "Though Mother didn't take it as well."

"She wouldn't, would she?"

"Everyone else is coming or already arrived."

Judith finished tidying her things and rubbed the back of her neck as she thought. She really wasn't in a mood to sip a Pimms and chat with her great aunt about the problems of the Prime Minister and the state of the monarchy.

"How about a ride?" Tommy asked, reading his sister's temper.

"Meet you at the stables in 10," she answered, relieved at the suggestion.

The ground was hard under a light dusting of snow, so they mostly kept to a brisk walk to spare the horses. Breath exhaled in steaming gusts as a milky sun pushed through the clouds. They came out of the woods at the far edge of the property, the sea crashing in the distance.

It was just them in the world for several long minutes until the horses began to stamp their hooves impatiently. Sharing a rueful look, the siblings turned their mounts back toward Howenstow at a slower gait.

"You look fit," Judith noticed.

"Thank you," he ducked as they passed under a branch.

"Recovery happens so slowly, you barely notice."

"I wasn't there for you, not as I should have been," he mused, thinking back to when his sister's husband had died.

"I knew I could call on you," she waved his concern away. "Grieving is not a public activity. Whatever the counsellors and group therapists say. At least it wasn't for me. It was just about getting through the days, taking care of my daughter, not making plans farther than a week in advance."

"A week? You did better than me."

She sniffed in amusement as she turned her horse back onto the main trail. He glanced at her, as though weighing his next words. She waited for him to speak, knowing he would – in his own time.

"I invited Barbara for Christmas."

"Is she coming?"

"No," he exhaled. "It…it, uh, has been a bit of a mess, actually." More than a mess, if the 4 'missed call' alerts on his mobile were any indication.

"It will come right," Judith said firmly. When she'd first met Barbara, she'd vaguely thought the woman had become her brother's latest minion. Her brother, who swept away being an Earl yet acted like a Prince. She'd seen them in action; 'Come on, Havers,' he'd barked, and the Acton girl with the tragic haircut had followed; 'Yes, sir.'

It hadn't just been Tommy's proprietary attitude towards Barbara. The sergeant was equally possessive towards her brother. The relationship had intimidated Helen, Judith knew. Her sister-in-law had made comments lightly, with humour, but it was obvious to anyone paying attention that she had considered the dynamic something of a rival to her marriage.

Obvious to anyone but Tommy, it had seemed. But not so, anymore. He'd locked his lips together in that way he had. If Judith hadn't known her brother would roar in outrage, she would have pointed out that it was exactly the same expression their mother used.

"Tommy? It is understandable. After all you have been through together?"

"There's nothing to discuss, Judith. It was an idea but…"

With a start, she realized that it hadn't been Barbara that had made the move but her brother. Oh, well… she blinked a few moments to gather her wits. Tommy had made the offer and Barbara had rejected him?

"I'm sorry," Judith said softly. What else was there to say? Barbara was the antithesis of every woman her brother had ever dated. His type were educated, polished and confident – and above all, excruciatingly perspicacious. They had to be, to keep up with her brother's disposition. How would Tommy and Barbara have coped?

He snapped the reigns, breaking Judith from her thoughts. Tommy's horse headed home at a light trot. She followed suit, and they went down the hill together.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You all right?" Stuart asked gently.

"Sure," Barbara looked up from the mobile she kept turning about in her hands.

There was a big part of him that had wanted to be on the road, long past, after his wife. Somewhere in the whiskey-infused night, he'd realized he must do. But Barbara was his friend, and the way she was worrying her phone was worrying him.

Lynley, that God-forsaken knob, hadn't been answering her phone calls. It was an unprecedented occurrence, according to Barbara. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked just about ready to cry.

"I'm sure you want to be on your way," she told him, with a pitiful attempt at a smile.

"What I want," he answered sincerely, "Is for you to stop this."

"It's a 'thing' with him, you know; loyalty. He goes postal when he thinks someone's been disloyal."

"You, ya mean. When he thinks you have been disloyal."

"Don't," she warned Stuart. "Don't make him out to be the bad guy here."

"Can't help myself," he shrugged. "We're mates, Barbara. Tommy's fine as far as he goes, but more than once he's sorely used you. Your loyalty has never been in question. In fact, it's somewhat legendary. You've nothing to prove. If anything, it's him that needs proving."

She shook her head. It had taken Barbara Lynne Havers over 35 years to grow into herself enough to truly consider having a relationship. For the longest time, she'd assumed she just hadn't been put together with the gene for one. Only recently had she clued into the fact that she hadn't been ready for one. Now, opportunities seemed to be sprouting more and more often. "But I only want him," she realized, aloud.

"Then go get him," Stuart advised. "Just…"

"What?"

"I know he's the guv, Barbara, but if you want to be with him properly then you have to be able to see yourself on the same level. If you're going after him – don't go crawling."

"Compared to what you're about to do with your missus?"

"Ach, lassie, fair enough," he said with extra Irish. "Now, let's get you sorted. We've got miles to go and not even begun."

Exhaling, she stood. Straightened. It was time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He'd allowed himself a single glass of Lagavulin 12 year-old whiskey. Lynley watched the glow of the firelight through the empty glass and wondered, idly, what Havers was doing.

He heard the quiet knock on the door and barely glanced up as his mother slipped into the library. "We're leaving for the Christmas festival, if you'd like to join us?"

He shook his head. Festival was a bloody Nanrunnel tradition. After his marriage to Helen, they'd gone along as well – touring the stalls, cheering the Father Christmases who raced in their knickers for Children in Need, and helping his mother judge the gingerbread. But not this year. This year the town could sing, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" without him.

Daze Lynley sighed and pressed her hands together. "Does this have anything to do with Barbara?"

He shot her a look and then turned back to the fire.

Daze took that as confirmation. After so many years of estrangement, she was used to her son's stingy conversation. She stood for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Tommy, maybe some things just…aren't meant to be?"

His only response was a tightening of his jaw.

His mother quickly realized she'd stepped wrongly. "So Barbara…distracts you?" she guessed.

"Maddingly."

"Ah," Daze nodded primly. "What can I do to be of help?"

He barely stopped himself from being utterly rude. Tommy exhaled and met his mother's intelligent eyes, "Bring me some of Nancy's gingerbread."

That put a smile on her. Patting her son's hand before leaving the room, she promised him pounds of it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Barbara stood in front of the tiny confectioner's shop near Covent Garden. Stuart had written the address down for her, but the place just didn't seem as posh as she'd expected. She wondered if this could possibly be the right place, but there was no time for going anywhere else. Hoisting the rucksack onto her shoulder, she stepped in.

The sales lady was happy to put together a box of the shop's most popular selections. It was sealed with ribbon and an embossed label, carefully tucked with layers of tissue into Barbara's bag. £25 lighter in pocket (a bleeding barnful of dot for chocolate!), she headed back out and turned towards Paddington Station.

She knew it was a strange, gutting fear of rejection that made her wait until the last minute to text.

"_Train arr Nanrunnel 1840_," she sent.

"_Get off Penryn. I'll be there_," he responded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For 5 hours, Barbara fretted, dozed, read bits of the book she'd brought, and watched out the window.

Penryn station was a single platform - not much more than a few benches and a shelter. Lynley stepped forward as she descended the stairs, reaching for her rucksack.

Under the flood light, the two regarded each other in silence; sifting through feelings and old perceptions. They'd changed over the years they'd worked together: fine lines bracketed their eyes; cheekbones had grown more pronounced. His dark hair was combed back and shorter; hers was longer, swirling loose on her shoulders with the wind.

Silently, Tommy indicated the car park and started walking.

Heart hammering in her chest, she followed.

The Bristol was still warm when they climbed in. He started the engine, and pulled back out to the road. A few minutes later, he pulled over by a country pub. He glanced at her, she nodded.

They walked across the street, each with their hands pushed deep in their pockets. He bought their drinks; she found a table as far out of the way of the crowd as she could.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I don't really know."

Barbara figured that was fair. It just felt all the more brutal because the look in his eyes was stark. She fiddled with her striped scarf, then swallowed the lump in her throat before explaining, "I ran into Stuart Lafferty in the lift, as we were leaving yesterday."

Tommy swallowed back the sudden, intense desire to rip Lafferty's heart out. "Oh?"

"His wife's left him. The job, you know?"

"So he needed a mate?" He over-pronounced the 't' sound at the end of the word in repugnance.

"It's happened before," she reminded him, pointedly.

"Of course," he exhaled. He wanted to ask if that was all it was, but knew he didn't have the right. Bugger it. "So that's all it was?"

"Yeah. Uh, mostly."

He wondered if now would be a good time to inform Barbara about his jealous streak. "Mostly?"

She met his eyes; there was a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. For good or ill, here was the moment. "It was nothing. Truly nothing."

He felt sucker punched. This was why he'd never asked Helen; had adamantly not wanted to know. Whatever had happened (nothing, on his part) after they'd separated – well, it hadn't been worth knowing. And here was Barbara. Who'd dated how many men in the years he'd known her? A few, at most. Doing God-knows-what with Lafferty – Lafferty! – of all people after their Versailles Treaty? He grit his teeth and tried not to toss his glass against the wall.

"It was over as soon as it started," she explained. "He was thinking of his wife. And I was thinking of you."

"Am I supposed to be grateful for that?"

"No! No, of course not. I'm saying…" she groaned. "I'm saying that all this has been a bit overwhelming, yeah? And you going away, without warning…"

"The estate needed me. And I was trying to give you space!" He hissed.

"I'm SO sick of you leaving me!" Barbara responded.

"So you slept with Lafferty, is that it?" he didn't wait for her answer, just snapped up his coat and marched out of the pub.

She quickly found her things and followed. Discovered him standing by the Bristol, the frustration coming off him in waves.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, to his back.

He kept focussed on the cold air in his lungs and the bright stars in the sky.

"I've botched this and I'm sorry," she repeated.

He nodded, almost to himself. "I'm not exactly blameless, am I?" he admitted to the silence between them. "I should have spoken with you before I left. Explained about the interim manager leaving and John Penellin coming back, and the state of things. It's been a bad habit of mine, all these years, to make unilateral decisions."

"I hadn't noticed." Her humour fell flat.

He raked a hand through his hair as he turned to face her. "Barbara, it's a long trip - why did you come? Just to tell me that you'd spent the night with Lafferty? You're not that cruel."

"I came to set things right," it was both declaration and question. "Nothing happened."

"You could have told me that in a text," He watched her flinch with an almost vicious sense of vindication. Then immediately regretted it. "That was cheap, sorry."

"It's true," she shrugged.

Tommy didn't quite know how to go on with his heart on his sleeve as he'd been. It hurt too sodding much. With a moment of clarity, he realized that if she turned away again – he'd let her go. Finally and absolutely put away this crazy notion before it destroyed them both and move back into the realm of women who knew the score.

"But I needed to say this part, in person," she locked his gaze. "I want you too, Tommy. If you'll still have me."

He exhaled, half laughing with relief. And then he closed the space between them and kissed her before she could say another word. This time, he wasn't careful. He dragged his hands along her cheeks, into her hair. Pressed his hips into hers. Felt her fingers at his waist and practically burst from his skin.

A couple of patrons walked past. "'Evening, sir," they called, amused at catching his lordship snogging in public.

The spell broken, Tommy and Barbara broke apart. "I thought you'd decided wholly against us," he confessed, leaning his forehead on hers and catching his breath.

"I had done. I still might."

"Oh, no, you bloody well won't," Tommy used his 'Guv giving an order' voice. She snorted, insubordinate woman that she'd always been. "Do you feel that, too?"

"Your mobile, you mean? Yeah, I do," she dropped her hand from his belt.

"Damn," he whispered, pulling it from his pocket. He checked the number before answering. "Yes?" Barbara started to step away, but he kept her tucked close. "I don't think so." A pause. "There's no need for that." Another pause. "Yes, of course."

"Mother," he explained after ringing off. "Dinner."

"If you need to go…"

"I need to be exactly where I am," he corrected, huskily. He leaned down to kiss her again. Loved feeling her go up on her toes to reach him. "So…fish and chips?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were back in the Bristol, motor running against the cold. The moon was huge over Howenstow, casting an unnaturally vivid light over the grounds. From inside, the windows glowed yellow with life.

"Let's go home to London," Tommy suggested. Barbara was leaning against him, her head tucked under his chin. The car felt like their private oasis, always had, and they were both a little afraid what would happen when they left it.

"Too far," she sighed.

He kissed her hair. "I'm sure we could find an Inn."

"Worked so well, last time."

"So you're eager to go in?"

"Are you barking? This place is so far out of my league…"

"Stop it," he growled.

"Sorry," she nodded against his chest. "Force of habit. Not eager; resigned."

"They don't bite," He promised. "They just…hover. Well, come on, then," he instructed, turning the car off. They stepped out, Tommy pulling the strap of her rucksack over his shoulder as they headed up the path.

A half-dozen people were gathered in the lounge, most barely looked up as the couple entered. But Judith and her mother both did a slight double-take of surprise.

"Barbara? Welcome," Lady Asherton, beautifully put together as always, stood to shake her hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Hiya," Judith said in greeting, shooting her brother a quick look.

"Hiya," Barbara returned.

Tommy put a hand on Barbara's shoulder. It was an announcement of sorts, and Daze was quick to register it.

"Barbara," Dorothy Lynley smiled. "After all this time, I do feel like you're one of the family. Won't you please call me 'Daze' or even 'Dorothy'?"

Barbara looked a bit bemused, but at Tommy's fierce expression realized she couldn't decline politely. "Yes, of course," she murmured.

"Excellent," Dorothy returned to her seat and indicated a chair. "Won't you join us?"

"Oh, thank you…"

"But Barbara's still tired from the trip," Tommy finished for her.

"We'll see you in the morning, then," Judith gave her brother a look that said 'we are SO going to talk.'

Pretending not to see, Tommy led Barbara up the stairs. They were down the hall and in the door before she registered that they were standing in his suite of rooms. He dropped her rucksack on a chair and turned, pushing his palms against Barbara's hips and her back up against the wall.

And his lips on hers.

She'd meant to complain about his presumption, but when she opened her mouth he was there. Invading, touching, pressing. They weren't kids by a long stretch, but Barbara felt giddy and giggly - until he dragged his kisses down her jaw and onto her neck.

Then she just couldn't breathe.

"Oh, God," she moaned.

Tommy's sex life had included very little conversation to date. He tended to just look for a woman's signals and go until told to stop. Or not, as these things usually went. But as Barbara's fists gripped and tugged and surely destroyed his cashmere sweater, a little voice at the back of his brain started screaming.

"Barbara," he panted, pulling his lips from her skin. "Barbara?"

"Unh?" she exhaled in a gasp.

"Barbara," he tried again. "Before we go any further, I have to ask."

"What?"

Tommy reached up and cupped her face in his hands. She looked absolutely miserable and besotted all at the same time. "If we don't stop…"

She pulled out of his grasp, confused. _Why did he want to stop_?

"Uh. I was just, to be sure…" He stared into her green eyes. Standing a foot away from her, about to burst out of his pants for her, and suddenly flooded with the conviction that what was about to happen wasn't just sex; it was sacred. "This IS what you want?""

"Oh," she whispered. "_Yes_."

If he'd been 15, or even 10 years younger Tommy would have carried her. As it was, he settled for kissing her across the room. And then onto the mattress. And only stopped long enough to rip off their clothes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They already knew each other's bodies from close quarters. But this was something new. This was touching and watching each other's faces for reaction. This was tracing her scars with his fingertips and aching with memory. This was resting her head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat.

This was wanting and wanting and yet, going slowly. This was having to discuss condoms in hushed, uncomfortable voices. This was having him put his hand there and arching with pleasure while realizing it was _Tommy_. This was having her put her lips there and looking into her eyes and seeing _Barbara_.

This was the negotiation of preference and the make-you-cry connection of watching two imperfect bodies glide together. This was the 'I never would have guessed' surprise of truly being naked together in so many ways…and the laughing under the covers at the awkward moments.

And sometime after midnight, teeth brushed and pyjamas somewhat donned, it was Tommy turning his head on the pillow and seeing her there. Feeling something go 'click' in his soul.

She reached her hand to his arm, saw the shine in his eyes. "Are you all right?" she whispered, terrified for a flash that he'd regretted it all.

"Perfect," he answered, quietly.

Barbara fought back a yawn and revelled in feeling deliciously sore and replete.

"You?" Tommy queried.

"Happy," she smiled as her eyes drifted shut.

He exhaled, "Sweet dreams."


	8. Chapter 8

He watched her for several long moments. Barbara Havers, asleep, was just about the most fragile thing he'd ever seen. If you didn't mind the snarl of hair and the bit of drool – which, on this particular morning, he didn't.

She turned, her small hand blindly reaching out. Tommy touched it, lightly, and her eyes opened.

"Good morning," he said, tucking a strand of hair out of her face.

"Good morning," she answered, shyly. _This was something else. Something after_.

He leaned down and kissed her, pulling her against him. It took several long moments before Barbara relaxed into his embrace, resting her cheek on his chest.

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," he stroked his fingertips up and down her arm.

Barbara usually considered herself to be pretty thick-skinned but was suddenly, irreparably, feeling inside-out. She didn't know how to act, what to say – they were too far down the rabbit hole. Her body could still feel his touch; the look in his eyes before he'd completely surrendered.

Tommy guided her chin up and gently kissed her again. She couldn't avoid his big brown eyes as they locked on hers. "Tell me you don't regret last night."

"I don't," Barbara answered honestly.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He pulled her closer.

"Oh," she whispered, as though surprised.

"Oh," he agreed

A few hours later, Barbara blinked awake again and immediately realized she was alone in the bed. Stretching, she looked around the room before pushing back the warm covers and pulling on her discarded pyjamas.

Tommy pushed the bedroom door open with a hip, two steaming cups in his hands and a small plate of toast balanced on top. "Good morning, again," he smiled.

"Hiya," she smiled back. They fell quiet for a long moment. "One of those mine?" she wondered, blinking against the column of sun in her eyes.

"Yes, of course."

After coffee, Barbara showered and changed. She would have herself shot (again) before wearing tweed or a twinset but jeans and Musto, she could do. Tommy followed suit and they set off for a walk around the estate.

Eventually, they ended up by the water. They stood - shoulders touching, gloved hands stuffed in pockets, the icy wind chafing their cheeks. The dock was empty; the sloop was in winter lay-up. Barbara listened to the water churn up against the shore. The noise of it reminded her of childhood caravan summers. It reminded her of walks with Lynley on a dozen different boardwalks.

A folly, just visible on a small hill in the distance, caught her eye. "What's that?"

"Vacennes," he answered, squinting behind his sunglasses. "It's managed now by the Heritage Trust, dates back before Tintagel."

The name sounded familiar, and Barbara remembered that it was the secondary title Tommy had been known by before his father died; Viscount Vincennes. It would be the courtesy title his firstborn son would carry. The thought was like a punch to the gut.

"What is it?" he asked, clocking her change in expression.

She shook her head and began walking again, purposefully striding in the opposite direction.

Brow furrowed in confusion, he followed. _Waiting it out_. It was the only way Tommy knew to deal with Barbara when she was in this mood.

"I…" she eventually stopped.

"You…?"

Barbara exhaled loudly. "You don't want me."

"I beg to differ. Would you care for another demonstration?" he lifted an eyebrow as his lips curved into a flirty smirk.

She blushed, "You know how I mean."

"I do not," his argued, his voice firm, insistent. "I want you. I want you in every '_how_' possible."

She shook her head.

"Barbara, what's really going on here?"

She pushed her hands back in her pockets and began moving again. He fell back in step beside her. They walked parallel to the shoreline for half a mile before she stopped and turned to him; "I warned you, right from the start, that I wouldn't be any good at this."

"We've only just started. Give us a chance."

They had reached the crest of the hill overlooking the house. "You lot always think that everyone wishes they were you," she said, as though it were published fact.

Barbara's hatred of the upper crust was half upbringing and half defensive shell. He knew which half this was. Despite everything that had changed between them, one thing hadn't – Barbara still felt out of place in his world.

Tommy pulled off a glove and cupped her cheek with his palm. That she didn't flinch was a good sign. "On the news yesterday, as I was driving to the station - Simon Featherstonehaugh has been appointed the new Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs."

Barbara's eyes turned soft with compassion. This was Tommy reminding her that there was a whole world that belonged to just the two of them. They knew each other's secrets, each other's joys, each other's terrors and regrets. That Simon Featherstonehaugh was a murderer – or as good as – and walking free, it weighed terribly on Tommy.

"It's ridiculous," He complained, inhaling deeply. "He should be…"

"The world isn't fair, sir," she agreed. At his sharp glance, she amended; "Tommy."

He leaned down and kissed her quickly and firmly.

"What was that for?" Slightly taken aback.

He shrugged.

"Oh. It's…"

"Yes?"

"No reason. Just because…"

She cocked her head and he slipped his hand back. Pulled on the glove before his fingers froze. "Because I wanted to," he continued. "Because I've often wanted to. And now I can."

"Just like that?" she challenged.

He kissed her again. A little harder. A little longer. He dragged his lower lip against hers and watched her cheeks go pink and was practically hard in freezing temperature just from _that_.

"Yes," he smiled. "It's my prerogative now, and I fully intend to exercise it. Be warned."

"I…"

"Give us a chance," it was an order, this time. He could see the confusion play in her eyes. Barbara was teeter-tottering over a dozen emotions. Tommy reminded himself that this was her first real relationship. She needed a gentle hand. A tall order against his Neanderthal surges of ownership. Tommy had always wrestled with feeling protective of Havers, but this was dizzying – an overwhelming sense that she was _his_, now.

"There's a new restaurant in Penryn, I think you'd like. No herbed chips or fancy salads," he promised. "Might be nice for Thursday? A break from the family?"

"I won't be here."

"Of course you will. You've just arrived, for God's sake."

"Friday night, before the party – Tate put me on temporary attachment to Lothian & Borders."

"Temporary?" he fought back the tendrils of panic.

"Three weeks, most like."

"Then I'll…"

She shook her head and met his gaze. "No."

He stared back.

"It's Acting DI," Barbara explained.

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"And not before time, of course. Congratulations, Acting Inspector." _Damn. Damn. Damn._ He felt a lurching deep in his gut.

"Thanks."

"You know, I have some time…"

"No."

"I played second fiddle quite well in…"

"No."

"Barbara…"

"Don't. This isn't Kent. Or even _Balford-le-Nez."_

He sucked in a breath. "What do you mean?"

"You've got to let me take an assignment on my own eventually," she chided.

"Yes, of course. It's just the timing…"

"The attachment's not to get me away from you!" she scoffed but reading his expression, she realized the arrogant sod really DID think it was somewhat about _him_. Barbara swallowed her response and began walking away.

"Just wait a moment," he called, catching up to her. "You have to understand, a woman like Michelle Tate…"

"What are you implying?"

He sighed, and shook his head. "Tate's motive at separating us isn't as important as how we respond."

"That's taking on rather much, don't you think? How _we_ respond?"

"No, I don't think it is – all things considered."

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, trying to get her anger under control. "Do you know, do have any idea what it felt like when I became a DS? No, you wouldn't. Never any doubt you'll be Commissioner one day. But when I made Sergeant, especially at the Met, that was…" she exhaled. "Everything. My dad was so proud of those stripes."

"As he ought to have been," he agreed, his voice a little rough with admiration. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, the obstacles (_mostly those of her own making, but many about not fitting the mold_) that she had worked through. There was no "golden girl" about Barbara Havers, just begrudging respect earned over and over again.

"So," she shot him an exasperated look. "I've been offered Acting DI. I'm taking it."

"Yes. Of course."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Barbara stood in the window at the end of the South Hall. It had an amazing view of the grounds all the way to the lights of town in the distance. Really, it was a grand old family pile.

She'd spent two awkward, heated, disconcerting, giddy, disbelieving days in and out of Lynley's bed – and arms. Aside from his barely concealed impatience with her forthcoming departure, he seemed to have slipped into their new relationship like a signet into a pond. She, on the other hand, felt pushed from the banks – arms pinwheeling, feet slipping, knowing she couldn't stop herself but fighting anyway.

Throughout the days, they'd been as they always had – happy in each other's company, never without conversation, taking part in holiday obligations or walking the estate. Then, come night, as soon as his lips would touch hers – all the anxiousness would burn away and leave her just wanting, and needing.

_Him_.

Tommy crossed his arms and watched her from the doorway of his suite of rooms.

"First time I visited," she said, without turning. "Your engagement party."

"I recall."

"You said; 'I have a favour to ask you. Would you call me Tommy this weekend?'"

He shook his head. He didn't remember.

"Barbara?"

"Yes?" She felt him approach; his hands slide onto her shoulders.

"Call me Tommy?" he whispered into her hair.

Her body could still feel his touch; the look in his eyes before he'd completely surrendered. She leaned back into him, and sighed. "Not on your life, _sir_."

His lips twitched in a smile.

The grandfather clock at the other end gave a quick tone.

"It's Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she turned to face him, looking up.

"Merry Christmas," he answered, with a jolt of realization that it really was.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Tommy was already down to breakfast by the time Barbara was dressed. She was looking under the bed for her other shoe when her mobile chirped.

"Happy Christmas," she answered, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

"Not in Melrose," Tate responded. "You're needed. Three pensioners from a care home never returned home from church last night. They've just located the abandoned vehicle."

Barbara froze in surprise.

"Havers?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'm sending the information now. There's a shuttle from Gatwick to Edinburgh."

"But I'm not…" Barbara realized that the other woman had already rung off and exhaled, slowly lowering herself onto the bed. For several moments, she was paralyzed by her thoughts – and _feelings_. How could she go? But then, how could she _not_?

"Hiya," Barbara stuck her head around the door of the dining room. With a glance, Tommy knew to excuse himself.

"Tell me," he prompted, recognizing the look on her face.

She explained the situation as they walked to his office. There, Tommy leaned his hip against his desk as his mind tumbled for a few moments. _Disappointment_. With a grimace, he nodded and took a swallow from his water glass.

"I'll drive you to Newquay Airport."

"But it's Christmas! Your family…"

In three steps he was facing her, cupping her upper arm in his hand. "No buts," he admonished.

She nodded, and met his eyes. "All right."

A light slushy snow made piloting the car a bit dodgy. Barbara filled the silence with updates as she received them on her mobile. Tommy remained uncharacteristically quiet as he focused on the road ahead. By the time they stopped for petrol outside Truro, they were both feeling the strain.

"I left something for your mother," she told him, almost absently, as she watched the flashing decorations in the shop windows.

"She'll appreciate it, I'm sure," he sighed, trying to let go of the plans he'd had. They drove the next kilometer in silence.

The small airport eventually came into view. Tommy pulled into the departures area and swung out to gather her bag. She buttoned her wool coat as she stepped up to the curb. Barbara took the rucksack and turned to leave but his hand stayed her.

"Ring me," Tommy instructed. "Please."

She nodded and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. They lingered for a moment before she broke away and marched purposefully into the terminal without looking back.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Havers found DC Turner standing with a larger uniformed woman by the Meet and Greet desk at Edinburgh Airport. "Merry Christmas."

"It _was_," he griped.

"DC Docherty, ma'am," the woman introduced herself. "You'll be wanting to get to Melrose straightaway, I'd imagine."

"Yes. You up to speed?" She asked Turner.

He nodded, falling into step as the three of them moved toward the exit. "Vehicle pulled out at 11PM last night with three pensioners and their aide driving for a Watchnight Service that was supposed end at midnight."

"Watchnight? On Christmas?" Barbara shivered as they stopped by the exit and the doors automatically slid open.

"_Blimey_," Turner zipped up his jacket against the icy wind.

Docherty's expression clearly amused that the two up from the South were afraid of a little gust. "Bide here."

As she stepped out the door, Turner gave Havers a smug smile.

"What?" She demanded, somewhat crossly.

"You know."

"I don't know."

"Direct flight from Newquay, was it?" The smirk grew.

"Enough of that," Barbara ordered, blushing slightly. "Tell me about the missing pensioners – and the aide."

They talked about the case for the hour's drive out to Melrose. Barbara's mind swirled with thoughts of the missing pensioners. She stuffed the personal away and forced all her attention on the case.

The otherwise barren stretch of road was crowded with over a dozen people - press, curious folks, technicians, and police. Barbara and Lee pulled on Wellies before slipping under the cordon.

"Acting Detective Inspector Havers?" Two men stepped forward. One was in full uniform and the other in the stripped-down navy coverall of the PSU. "Detective Chief Inspector Iain Shaw, Lothian and Borders Police. This is our Polsa, Inspector Brian Cook."

"What do we have?" she asked. Both men were quick to the point and spare with their words. Within 10 minutes, Barbara was up to speed on the search – there had been some light foot traffic in the grassy area near the minivan and they'd found the keys in the snow about 20 feet from where it had been abandoned. It had started right up, no appearance of motor trouble.

A dog and handler was following a possible trail in the direction of the river Tweed and four search trained PC's finishing the outer reaches of the grid search. Both Docherty and Turner joined them and Barbara was itching to get out there as well, but Cook belayed her. Pointing to the Bluetooth in his ear, he stepped closer to Shaw and Havers. "That's the handler_ – they've found a body."_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Lynley nursed a drink while he watched the news. Barbara was grim as she answered questions. Standing at her elbow was an equally grim Detective Chief Inspector.

Behind them, a shelter had been erected over the body of a 76 year-old pensioner from Newcastle; a religious widow named Smith.

"Any news?"

"They've identified the victim but no sign yet of the others," he answered, recognizing his sister's footsteps.

"She looks well," Judith noted, glancing at the flat screen. "How is she doing?"

He didn't answer.

"Tommy?"

He shook his head.

"Tommy," she pushed. "Barbara isn't Helen."

"Of course not," he snorted, as though the very thought was absurd.

"Tommy."

He turned, finally.

"There's an old saying, that you have to let something go in order to –"

"Leave off the new age philosophy, if you please," he interrupted, pouring himself another finger – or three.

"Oh, scotch always did make you maudlin," Judith groaned. "Tommy, she has to step out from your shadow. You can call her your partner but until you aren't also her boss that's just wishful labeling. Let her move forward. Encourage her. If you want a real shot at this, you need to surrender the reigns."

He rubbed his cheek, glancing sideways at his sister. "I hate that I'm not there."

"I know," her look was compassionate. "But new age philosophy or not – it doesn't take a guru to know what you ought _not_ to do – show up there," she indicated the telly with her chin.

He nodded and rubbed his mouth with his hand, as though stopping any more words from coming out of his mouth. She shook her head, and then swallowed down the last of his scotch.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Lee Turner nudged his boss awake. Barbara blinked slowly, the dawn sun burning her eyes through the office window. She accepted a hot cup of coffee, breathing in the steam for several moments before asking Lee for updates.

"Mr. Ferguson's still alive, but they regard him as critical. SOCO is doing a sweep at the river now the sun's come up, ma'am."

"You don't have to call me that, Turner," she told him, chafing her cheeks with her palms. "Especially when it's just us." Barbara checked her face in a small mirror and frowned. Two hours of sleep had left her looking worse – not better.

"Think I do. Think I will," Lee retorted, the smile in his eyes softening his abrupt tone. "Detective Chief Inspector Shaw says when you get a moment, he'd like to do another appeal."

"Right," she stood and found her rucksack. "I want updates from the M.E. on the post-mortem. Oh, and the status of our survivor."

"Yes, ma'am."

Havers stepped into the ladies and did what she could with a change of clothing, toothbrush, and flannel. She moved to the bustling incident room and the buzz fell silent.

Barbara had briefed on high-profile cases before, but a part of her missed Lynley's R.P. baritone in counterpoint. With a deep breath, she began the meeting.

"Inspector!" Docherty called from the doorway just as Barbara was wrapping up.

Barbara pulled her purse strap over her head as she hurried across the room. "Lead?"

"Just phoned in from two riders on the Eildons, Ma'am. I have a feeling about it."

Brian Cook, standing in the hallway, overheard and began jogging with them towards the exit. At the car park, he indicated a Land Rover and the three were quickly on their way.

The high country was a vast snowfield. Docherty gave directions. Slowly, they inched along several rough roads along the foothills, about a half-mile as the crow flew from the abandoned minivan.

They followed the faintest tendril of smoke to an abandoned cottage. Running, Cook reached the door first and put shoulder to it. With no electric and curtained windows, the interior was dim. They found the bedraggled Mrs. Fuchs curled up in front of the dying fire in the reception room. Barbara found a pulse and tried to rouse her. With no luck, Cook caught up the old woman in his arms and carried her to the car, keeping her close against his body in the back seat.

With a spray of snow and gravel from the tires, they raced to hospital.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"It's homicide," Barbara pronounced, her phone tucked against her ear.

"It's certainly malfeasance," Tommy agreed.

"The aide abandoned those three pensioners – including poor Mrs. Smith, who had onset dementia. Her death was completely avoidable. Mrs. Fuchs and Mr. Ferguson both have hypothermia and may not survive," Barbara paused to beckon the DC who'd arrived at her doorway with food. "Cheers."

"Pardon?"

"Breakfast," she explained around a mouthful of McMuffin.

"Right. What about the PM?"

"Not completed yet."

Tommy changed the subject, "Tell me about the DCI."

"He's all right, actually," She finished the McMuffin. "We've had two burglary calls from Boxing Day sales – there's been a rash of them over the last month. They're pressing for a quick result. Turner will stay on and work the case. Everything fine there?" Barbara asked.

"Yes, of course. I've been informed that Peter will be making an appearance after all."

"That's wonderful!"

"I suppose," Tommy agreed.

Lee knocked softly on the door and Barbara rang off, feeling farther away from Lynley than Scotland.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Tommy was glad he'd dressed for weather. The clouds had rolled in as he walked towards the cliffs, and the temperature had dropped accordingly. The evergreen shrubs clinging to the rocky ground shivered with the wind.

Listening to Barbara, he'd found himself fighting – and nearly losing – the urge to fly to Scotland. For the better part of an hour, he climbed in and out of the familiar nooks. Stopping now and again just look out; letting his thoughts sort and tangle.

"Hello!"

Tommy pivoted in surprise to find Peter standing above him. "When did you get in?"

"Just now, really." he answered, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "You all right?"

"Am _I_ all right?" Tommy was surprised at how seriously Peter asked the question.

"You walk the cliffs like this when you're troubled."

"Is that so?" he climbed up beside his brother. "Well, what about you? There's been great mystery accorded your whereabouts."

"Brief retreat holiday. It's helpful at times like this, to…clear my head."

"What do you mean, _times like this_?"

"I've got some news, Tommy. I've brought Portia with me."

"Your girlfriend?" Tommy vaguely remembered a very thin, very blonde, bored-looking barista.

"The thing is, Tommy," his voice was solemn. "We're getting married."

"Well," he inhaled. "Congratulations."

"We mean to do it here, after the holidays. I've already told mother – she and Portia are fixing the date and planning the details. Olivia has informed us that she is to be flower girl."

"So quick?"

"We've been together a while." Peter reminded him, ducking under a snow-laden branch and then stopping. "And… she's pregnant."

Both the revelation and the branch hit him square between the eyes. Tommy shook off the snow as Peter attempted not to laugh.

"Due just about Easter, is the word."

"And you're…ready for this?"

"I _am_ over 30, Tommy," Peter reminded him, the old bitterness of being alternately neglected and bossed about by Tommy frosting his voice. "And clean. And working."

"Yes, yes, of course," he backtracked. "I was just thinking…having a baby, it changes everything."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Then I'm glad for you both. _Truly_," Tommy assured him.

Peter assessed his brother's sincerity and was chuffed to see he meant it. They smiled and continued walking.

"What are your plans, then?"

"We're moving house. Portia wants to settle in Portsmouth, near her family. The firm has an office there."

"Portsmouth? But surely…"

"We need a place that's ours."

"This _is_ yours, Peter. You've always loved Howenstow."

"Tommy," he gave his brother an almost pitying look, with just a last hint of a lifetime's resentment. "I've spent too much of my life as the bad boy tear-away next-in-queue in true old tradition. It's time to move on, don't you think?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"That's not…" Peter shook his head. _Tommy could be incredibly thick_. "I start in Portsmouth first week of February. We'll have to talk about the flat – probably best to let it. My neighbors have had theirs for sale for ages and, what with the economy…"

"Actually, it's a great opportunity."

"For?"

"Me. I'm looking for a place to live."

"Did I hear you correctly? You want to quit your place for _mine_?"

"Don't look so astonished. Yours AND the neighbors. Will make something quite nice, together, I should think."

"I..." Peter was at a loss for words.

"Of course, I don't know what shape it's in…"

"Bin the bongs and condom wrappers, should be good as new."

"Wrappers yet no _actual_ condoms, I see?"

Peter burst out in laughter, shocked that his brother had made the joke. "Clearly!"

"We're agreed then?" Tommy thrust out his hand, and Peter shook it.

As they entered the house, the men stopped to shed their extra clothing. Tommy was about to slip back into his office when Peter stopped him. "You never said, about yourself. How you're faring."

"I'm fine."

"And… Barbara?"

"Fine."

Peter stopped himself from pushing and let it go. At the end of the day, there still seemed to be as much that separated them as brothers as brought them together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Havers leaned back in her office chair and looked out the small window. Church bells were ringing somewhere, reminding her of the holiday she'd missed.

They still hadn't found the aide, Sally Holmes. It gnawed at Barbara, a low boiling frustration that didn't go away. Keeping busy hadn't helped. There was a pile of information being worked on the robberies – employee background histories, financials, connections in the area. But her mind kept going back to the aide.

She fidgeted with her mobile, completely unsurprised when it vibrated in her hand.

"It's me."

"Hiya, you."

"Peter's arrived. With his pregnant fiancée."

"His _what_?"

"Portia is expecting. They are marrying and relocating to Portsmouth."

"Portia that worked at the coffee house? That does the knitting? Good for them! When's the wedding?"

"Two weeks. I knew she was a barista but not about the knitting."

"Two weeks! Will it be there, then? Posh scarves and mittens and the like – sells them online and a shop in Notting Hill."

"I had no idea. Yes, here at the estate chapel. You'll come?"

"Hang on," she spied her DC gesturing from the doorway. "Got to go – I've an update from Turner."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Hard to believe she remembered my favorites," Dorothy beamed as she opened the box.

"She _is_ a detective," Tommy half-chided his mother.

"Piffle," she rejoined. "This is a delightful surprise."

He watched his mother nibble the candy. It gladdened him to see Barbara so thoughtful and his mother so appreciative.

"And will Barbara be returning for the wedding?"

He didn't answer. He didn't _have_ an answer.

"Tommy?"

"Is there one for me?" Judith entered the room and flashed a '_I'm here to rescue you_' smile at her brother as she picked out a chocolate for herself. "Oh, I'd forgotten how good these are."

"Give over," Peter demanded, sauntering into the sitting room as though he owned the world. His mother briefly frowned at his vernacular but passed the chocolates.

"Portia finally get to sleep?" Judith asked, perching on the arm of the settee.

He nodded as he chewed.

"Thank heavens. That poor girl! Riding over 200 miles in her condition; in the snow," Daze shook her head reprovingly.

"It was _her_ idea to travel by car," Peter defended, wondering how it being snow outside had made it somehow more exhausting for his partner to sit and watch him drive.

Into the soft quiet, the four looked at each in simultaneous realization. It was the first time they'd been alone together since Tommy's father had passed away. It should have been damned uncomfortable.

Surprisingly… it wasn't.

"Did he tell you, he's taking my flat?" Peter settled his elbow on the mantle.

"You're not. He's joking," Judith looked between the brothers in disbelief.

Peter shrugged, "Apparently, big brother has a craving to go downmarket. Mind you, he means to buy the adjoining flat and double its size."

"I quite like the idea," Judith announced. "It's got that lovely view, and the area has a completely different sensibility – it'll do you good."

"With the extra room, it should do nicely," Daze agreed. "And your Sergeant should love it, in any event."

Tommy winced, but didn't say anything. It was hard to know when his family meant the barbs and when they just blundered into insulting each other from sheer habit.

"On that note," Peter saluted. "I'm off to bed. I've a feeling Portia will have me up early."

"Good night," Daze murmured as her other two children quickly followed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Did you get the link I sent you to her Flickr page?"

"Yes. You shouldn't have…"

"It's just research, Barbara. A few minutes on the computer."

"All right, I'm looking at the picture now. How can you be sure it's Whitby?"

"That bit of stairs behind her shoulder? They lead up to the Abbey."

Barbara had never been, so she took Tommy's word for it. She printed out the picture.

"Something happens during the transport, and she panics and tosses the keys…"

"Or one of the pensioners does…"

"So she starts walking…"

"And somehow ends up where? The train station?"

"It's possible. There were only two trains out Christmas morning and big gaps in the CCTV coverage of the station. But no one saw her anywhere near there. No one has come forward about seeing her, full stop."

"She'd have gone on the southbound train, which left Melrose at…"

"Half-six, no…holiday schedule…"

"7:10 AM," Tommy was also on the train's website. "She'd have to change trains in Darlington."

"The ex-boyfriend sent her an SMS around 6AM. Told us it was just to wish her a happy holiday but he's erased the actual message so it may very well have been to set up a meeting at the train station or even Whitby itself. I'm going to follow this up."

He rang off and Barbara went to find Lee. An hour later, Barbara was summoned down to the path lab. She stopped short when she arrived in the doorway, Lee nearly colliding into her.

"_Acting_ Inspector," Tony Philips said with displeased surprise.

"Tony," Barbara tried to keep her tone more neutral. "You're far from home."

"So are you."

She crossed her arms. Turner looked between Philips and Havers, wondering what the history was there. "Right. What do you have?"

"Skip the foreplay, then?"

"Did she drown?" Lee asked. It was the answer that would decide the charges.

"Cerebrovascular accident,"Tony told them. After a moment, he elucidated, "She died of a stroke. The ME didn't find any fluid in her lungs or antemortem bruising, which suggests she'd expired before she fell down the bank into the river."

"What caused it?"

"I've just completed the toxicology, there was nothing foreign in her blood. Though there should have been."

Havers raised her eyebrows.

"She had very high cholesterol, which caused the atherosclerosis. Change in lifestyle wouldn't have been enough. She should have been taking a statin, I should think, to control it."

"And she wasn't?"

"Other than tea and a biscuit, there was absolutely nothing in her system," his answer was given in the same tone a parent would explain to a child why they shouldn't play with matches.

"So the exposure, the walking around – it didn't contribute directly to her death? Is that what you are saying."

"It may have been the trigger, but the underlying condition must have been unchecked for some time."

Barbara missed Lafferty like an ache. "Right, send me the report," she ordered, turning on her heel and leaving.

"Watch yourself with that one," the pathologist warned Lee as he moved to follow.

Turner didn't give him the courtesy of response.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Darlington Train Station CCTV had caught what appeared to be Sally Holmes as she'd changed trains. It was enough to request the North Yorkshire constabulary to search for her.

Barbara went a bit batty waiting for word. She wanted to be in on the search herself, but it was over a 3-hour drive and she was SIO on two other cases – including the high-profile burglaries.

She'd known being an A/DI would mean new challenges, but she hadn't counted on the higher level of frustration. Barbara had somehow though more responsibility and rank would mean more freedom to do things as she thought best. Instead, she'd found it meant even more constraints.

Barbara put in 14-hour days right through to New Year's Eve. The lucky coppers who'd been given leave for the night were all for the Edinburgh Hogmanay. Lee himself had been sporting a curvy, ginger lass on his arm as he'd saluted farewell.

For the rest, catering had been ordered and the murmurs of shifts rotating in and out for bite could be heard all the way up to Havers' office at the back of the incident room. Dragging a hand along the side of her face in exhaustion, Barbara finally admitted to herself that she wasn't going to get any more work done.

Closing her laptop and slipping it into her bag, she stood. And then froze.

Leaning against the doorway in his leather jacket and jeans was Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley. A small smile playing on his face.

"Hiya."

"Hello."

"Just in the neighborhood?"

"Not really, no," he took a step towards her.

"Lost?"

"No."

"Then…"

"Then?"

Barbara moved out from behind her desk. He carefully closed her door, then cupped her face and kissed her. Felt her kissing back. They both took a deep breath, as though some invisible finish line had been crossed.

"I thought you and St. James had some plans with a 20 year-old Scotch?"

"Black Bull, _40_ year-old," he sighed as though it was a woman who'd gotten away. "But Joseph injured himself last night."

"Is he all right?" Deb's father was an irascible and beloved figure in their lives.

"He's got a boxer's break in his hand, from trying to stop his fall. They released him this morning; Simon and Deb are sticking close."

"Of course."

"Which left me at a loose end," he smiled into her eyes. "Happy?"

"Very," she agreed, rubbing the back of her neck to relieve some of the tension. "Sometimes I lose track of what day it is."

"The glamourous life of he DI," he noted dryly. Tommy took the strap of her laptop bag and put it on his own shoulder. They headed to the exit, and down the steps.

"How long are you staying?"

"Just the weekend. Although I have put in for temporary attachment in Newcastle."

"Newcastle!?"

"Since apparently I'm banned from the Borders," he reminded her wryly, "It was either that or Glasgow."

"Shoulda picked Glasgow."

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Think I'm saying it outright, _sir_."

"I get along quite well, thank you."

"Why aye, chicken pie," she teased.

Her smile, so genuine, made Tommy's stomach flip as he unlocked the doors of his hire car. "I've booked a boutique hotel near Edinburgh."

Barbara nodded.

After a long pause, he prodded, "Should we stop in for your things?"

"Uh…yes."

He turned on the engine, and then glanced over at her. Her indecision was clear. "This is new for both of us. Just tell me what you're thinking."

"Newer to me, I think."

"Yes. Look, we don't have to…"

"Just give me a moment, would you?"

He briefly considered if they were about to spend New Year's Eve in a car park.

As she tucked her hair behind her ear, Tommy was struck; _she's lovely_. It wasn't just fine bones and green eyes – it was a polish she'd slowly acquired since they'd been partnered.

She had been hidden under those oversized jackets and ill-fitting sweaters. He'd sometimes wondered if she'd bought her clothing at Tesco while popping in for crisps and bin liners. But he'd never know her now as the Barbara Havers of 10 years ago. Appearances weren't all that mattered – but they _did_ matter. He liked to think he'd had some influence there.

"Don't look at me that way," she grumbled.

"What way is that?"

She lifted her eyebrows.

"All right, then just choose – topic, destination, name it."

"This hotel you've booked, how far?"

"Not very," he smiled, putting the car into gear.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Darling?" he stepped out of the bathroom the next morning with a towel slung low on his hips. "Did breakfast arrive?"

"Mmm hmm," she answered from the sitting room.

He dressed quickly and joined her. Barbara handed him a cuppa and poured another for herself. "Oh, and … don't call me that."

"What?"

"_Darling_."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"I didn't expect us to be able to woo peaceably," he found a small pot of preserves for his toast. "That's from…"

"Shakespeare, I know," she added sugar to her cup. "Don't look so surprised."

"I'm not."

"Keanu Reeves was in the film."

"I missed it. Read the book, instead."

_He was laughing at her._ "Yeah, all right," she conceded.

"You never did say – Peter's wedding, a week Saturday."

"It's a family do, surely."

"_Please_, Barbara."

"If you're sure."

"I'll have Denton make reservations."

"I…"

"Yes?"

"It's silly."

He leaned back in his chair and clocked her mood. "This is about the fare?"

"I can…"

"You can't."

She took a breath. "Tommy…"

_He used to have similar awkward conversations with Deborah, once upon a time. _"I don't want to overstep, Barbara. But things would go a lot easier if we could come to rapprochement and close the subject. If I invite you to something, I expect to take care of the expense – that _is_ the usual dating custom."

"We're not talking fish and chips. I pay my own way." She remembered seeing his name on the rich list and felt slightly ridiculous but she wouldn't sacrifice her independence.

"Barbara, you're being irrational."

"I…"

"It won't work, constraining our lives to your salary."

"I wasn't aware that living on a budget was such an unacceptable lifestyle."

"You're deliberately misunderstanding."

"You've got your head up your arse."

"Christ!" he took a step back – literally and emotionally. "I am asking you to treat me the _same_ as you would anyone else. Just the fare, Barbara. I want you at the wedding, with me."

He'd offered to pay the fare when she'd traveled to Cornwall for his engagement party, but she'd turned him down flat. This time, things were different. "Just the fare," she capitulated.

"Good." Finishing his toast, he held out his hand, "Walk?"

"Please," she stood as well.

"Or…"

Barbara hated how quickly she blushed. But that didn't stop her from stepping closer. She'd never had an argument to make up over before.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

DC Stella Docherty's personal car was an aluminum can equipped with an engine that sounded like it was nicked from a motorboat. All dipped in rust and mud. And she drove it like a madwoman.

Barbara gamely watched the road and tried to remember her prayers. When they reached the dress shop, she didn't hide her relief.

"You all right, ma'am?"

"I think so," she unclenched her hands and got out of the car.

Docherty ushered the A/DI Havers into a rainbow of dresses. Barbara was immediately flummoxed by selection.

"Here it is!" the constable called. She held up a mass of jade and sage-colored material. "My cousin looked amazing in it, and she has just your colouring."

Barbara doubtfully took the hanger; there was no harm in trying it on. The PC had been trilling on about it since she'd asked for a local recommendation.

She was shocked when she looked in the dressing mirror. The fitted dress was simple, flattering. The velveteen coat had frog closures at the waist. And Barbara looked…

"Like Princess Bonnie Dress Up," she muttered, as Docherty approached.

"Nay, ma'am," the PC shook her head. "Just bonnie."

Barbara dared to glance then at the price. Her gut clenched. She closed her eyes, then opened them to her own reflection. Smiled. "Yes, I suppose it _will_ do."

A few days later, Tommy tried to hide his anxiety as he waited with his brother at the altar. He hadn't seen Barbara since she'd been commandeered before breakfast – still in her pajamas – by Judith to help with something or another. His partner's look of bewildered discomfort as she'd been led away had been alarming. Tommy half expected her to bolt.

_But no, there she was. _

He blinked.

Her hair was lighter, twisted up. The green fabric made her eyes glow. Someone – most likely his mother – had made sure she had a spray of Cornish heather pinned to her lapel.

_She was exquisite_. His chest grew tight.

Barbara could hardly breathe, either. Years fell away, and there he was – waistcoat and morning suit and every inch the toff standing in a church full of toffs. Everything she'd hated, at first sight. Tall, arrogant, handsome, presumptuous, looking down his nose at her…

_Oh my God... _

She broke eye contact as emotions pressed into her. Barbara slid in next to Sidney despite wanting to jog out of there – back down the aisle, out the door, and far far far away.

Everyone stood as Portia entered the chapel with her father. The antique satin gown and Lynley emeralds cast her as a princess. When she arrived at Peter's side, he solemnly turned to take her hand. With a snap of shock, Barbara realized that while everyone in the chapel was admiring the beautiful bride – Tommy was still staring straight at _her_.

Her heart stopped for a long moment.

Then, thankfully, the vicar began the service and both she and Tommy put their attention where it belonged.

Outside the chapel, after the service, Tommy offered his arm to Barbara. She looked at it a moment, as though unsure what it was for. He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow while leaning down to whisper in her ear, "You're lovely."

"So are you," she answered before thinking it through. He chuckled; she blushed. Together they navigated the path back to the house.

During the breakfast, Barbara felt a vibration in her pocket. Tommy caught her peeking at her phone under the table and lifted his eyebrows. She pushed away from the table and he followed suit. They made their apologies and drifted out to a small sitting room.

"They found Sally Holmes in Salford."

"I'll drive you to Newquay," he said, dragging his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, thanks." She turned and headed up the stairs to change into work clothes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

They met back at the Edinburgh boutique hotel the following Saturday evening. Watched each other undress in silence. It was almost unbearably intimate – and erotic.

She moved onto the bed; he followed. Looking into her eyes, he rolled into her. As she yielded, Barbara felt tears on her skin. His? Hers?

Still trying to catch their breath as they finished, Tommy leaned his forehead against hers. "Barbara…" he whispered, overcome.

"Me, too."

He gathered her close, and they fell asleep for a few hours. Supper was delivered to their room and they ate it in robes.

"How are the victims doing?"

"Mr. Ferguson had his foot amputated yesterday," she felt a pang thinking of the pensioner's pain. "Mrs. Fuchs has pneumonia."

"Is the aide still refusing responsibility?"

"Yes. She's given us a full accounting, now. Maintains that Mrs. Fuchs had some kind of fit on the way home from church and when she pulled over to check on her, Mrs. Smith took the keys and ran off. Mr. Ferguson followed to bring Mrs. Smith – and the keys – back. She is adamant that she attempted phoning for help but her phone battery was dead. Went looking for the lost couple and didn't find them, says she wandered in the cold, lost, for hours. Swears she doesn't know how she ended up on the train."

"Disassociative event?"

"They have experts interviewing her."

"Your opinion?" He knew Barbara could be very soft-hearted at times, and was curious how much Sally's version had plucked at his partner's heartstrings.

"I think it would be easy to lose your way in the dark out there. But if you're asking me? She knowingly left those pensioners to die." Barbara shook off the gloom. "Uh, you know about Winston?"

"The promotion? Yes, of course."

"I think his mother may just write his new rank into all his shirts."

He gave her a small smile. "He's asked if I want him Newcastle."

Barbara swallowed a bite of chicken and raised her eyebrows. "He drives you batty."

"Only over sustained exposure. And he's good, especially considering that the best isn't available," Tommy conceded as he poured more water into each of their glasses. "Have you heard from Hadi?"

"They've just come back from Canada. Hadi says my plants are barely alive. I left those glass reservoirs you gave me in the sink."

"They don't work if they aren't actually in the pot."

"Got that, thanks."

They shared a smile.

"How goes the move to Hammersmith?"

"You needn't say it like that."

"Well, you didn't seem happy last time you stayed in that neighborhood"

Internally, he winced to remember how he'd treated Barbara. _Well, dismissed her_. "I wasn't meant to be happy," he shrugged. "They call it _grieving_ for a reason."

"Ah."

"You'll want to see the place before any changes are decided."

"Yes… of course." Barbara wasn't sure why but was afraid to ask. She quickly changed the subject.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Charlie," Tommy opened the door. "Come through."

They carefully inspected the nearly empty flats. The wall between the two had already been partially removed and the wood floors gleamed as they moved through the rooms. The freshly whitewashed walls reflected the sun so brightly in the reception room that both men stepped back.

Denton indicated the farmhouse table that Peter had left behind. It was a 19th century French piece that his mother had sent from Howenstow. It now appeared to have…cigarette burns?

"Get it restored," Tommy ordered.

He looked out the windows and realized that the view of the church, the bridge, and beyond to the city skyline were stunning. He stepped towards the balcony doors to get a better look, excited - this was something he could truly enjoy.

"Hello?"

Tommy reached out his hand as Barbara stepped in. She took it, feeling awkward under Charlie's gaze. Tommy noticed, but pretended he didn't.

Walking from the tube stop, Barbara's first impression had been of a residential block that was not terribly posh. The property, however, was definitely a mansion flat. No, make that TWO mansion flats about to be combined into 150-plus square meters of renovated perfection. _Well, of course it was_.

Charlie cleared his throat and indicated the arrival of the architect and her assistant. Introductions were made and Barbara stepped back to allow for Tommy to focus on his consultation. He put his hand on the small of Barbara's back, essentially dragging her into the fivesome as they began touring the combined spaces of Flat "A" and Flat "B".

They stepped around one of the formal dining spaces, and he pointed up at the plasterwork ceiling medallion. It was chipped, but the fleur-de-lis pattern was still recognizable. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm," Barbara shrugged. _Fancy ceiling work that could fall on her head, she was supposed to have an opinion_?

The kitchens of the two flats had been back-to-back but the wall between could not be entirely removed because it was load-bearing. Both were small, galley types.

"Practical, though," Barbara mused.

"Hardly," Tommy sighed.

"What if space from this receiving room, on the "A" side, was utilized? Extend the kitchen this way, instead of joining the two?" The architect gestured.

Tommy stepped back. "There's a thought. Darling?" he prompted.

Barbara stood mutely, unsure what to say.

The other three quickly clocked the by-play and pretended not to. He inhaled. She refused to meet his eyes. "Excuse us?" Tommy didn't even glance as Charlie ushered the other two towards the "B" side to discuss the needs of the security system.

Once alone, the silence stretched between them.

"You seem upset." Tommy wondered if she knew how embarrassing her behavior was to him sometimes.

"Yeah, alright…_why_ am I even here?"

"Barbara - you're my _partner_. Your input is valuable to me."

"I'm…" she stopped. Suddenly all the meanings of the word 'partner' flew around in her mind like drunken bats.

"You're…?" he challenged, curious and scared of what she was about to say. Tommy stepped into her line of vision. "Explain this to me. I thought we were in a relationship. A serious relationship. Aren't we?"

"Aren't we?" Barbara met his eyes.

"I know how I feel. I'm asking about you. _Your_ intentions."

_It was like being transported back into an Austen farce. Intentions? Who even talked that way?!_

"Barbara?"

"Yes, we're in a relationship," she admitted.

It was like an electric shock that re-started his heart. Tommy exhaled with relief. "Then what is so inappropriate about asking you be involved with the renovations?"

"I'm…."

"Yes?"

"In Scotland."

"Not at the moment."

"This is _your_ home."

"And perhaps, someday, _ours_."

"I never said."

"You wouldn't have," he retorted in a slip of temper. He took a few more deep breaths. "Indulge me. Please. This is part of it. Living in hope of more. Building things together."

_It sounded terrifying. _

Tommy took a small step in her direction. "I'd like this to be a place in which we can _both_ be comfortable."

He was putting too much on her. Barbara wanted to take a runner. Tommy could see it on her face the way he could see it on a suspect. For just a tick, Tommy fought back a longing for Caro, and Helen, and all the women for whom this exercise would have been as simple as thumbing through a glossy magazine.

Barbara closed her eyes and took a few cleansing breaths, the way she'd been taught on her Cornwall retreat so many years ago.

They stood, a foot apart. Looking at each other but eyes not meeting.

Tommy waited. He'd spent years waiting on Barbara. Train stations. Crime scenes. Reports to be filed. Chips to be devoured. The last swallows of a pint. Last point to be made, talking in the car park next to the Bristol. Before she'd splashed into his life he'd been marching along at his own pace in the directions that pleased him. It seemed so very long past and so very far away.

'You go - I go,' she'd said to him once, leaning against a fence. He'd been pleased to hear it, at the time. Flattered, even. She'd latched on to him from the start, snarling like a kitten but claws firmly embedded in his skin. Now she was a tigress – sleeker, savvier, stronger. _The sodding hell with glossy magazines_. "I… could find a place closer to Chalk Farm," he mused.

"God, no," Barbara did a spit take.

"What?"

"Don't say things like that. It does my head in."

"Wait a sec…"

"Yeah, fine," she sighed.

"Fine?"

"Will be. If you stop calling me _darling_. That's the end."

"You hate it that much?"

"As I've said. More than once."

"Then I will try to stop. We'll come up with something else. Dearest?"

She frowned.

"My dear?"

She cocked her head.

"Poppet?"

She laughed.

"Poppet it is, then," he placed a soft kiss in her hair.

"Just my name, is all," she shrugged.

"But…"

"The way I say yours, _Tommy_."

He inhaled sharply with the pleasure of hearing it. "I may slip from time to time," he warned.

"Me, too, _sir_."

He touched his fingertips to her cheek and they stayed quiet until the tentative return of footsteps could be heard. "The kitchen…" he reminded her.

"Open," Barbara announced.

"Pardon?"

"Like my first flat?"

"You mean the one with the external refrigerator?"

"Yes," Barbara gave him a teasing look. "There."

"There was no kitchen, _there_."

"It was open plan!"

"It was…" he struggled for the right word.

"Open plan," Barbara repeated.

He opened his mouth and then closed it. _This was Barbara, expressing an opinion_ _about the flat_, he reminded himself.

"If I may?" The architect began sketching. "If we assign "B" as the more formal reception room and then the second opening here to "A" as more of a lounge, encompassing a kitchen and…" she drew on her iPad with long, sure strokes as Barbara and Tommy sidled up to watch.

"What is this?" Tommy shook his head, pointing. "Bedroom? It needs to be reconfigured."

"Sir?"

They followed Tommy as he walked through the space. "One of the bedrooms will be used as a study, and should open here," he indicated.

"So… two doubles here," the architect pointed at the back of the combined space. "And another double here, suited as a study."

"I would think so." He turned to Barbara. "What about you, poppet?"

She choked.

Charlie burst out in uncontrollable coughing.

The architect's assistant admired the ceiling medallions and bit his lip.

That Barbara didn't snap Tommy's head back with a side kick was a victory for their relationship, and a testament to her sense of humour. Instead she walked the space and thought about it. "It's a thought, _sir_. But…maybe switch it around? So the other cloakroom is off the lounge? And not the bedrooms?"

"Oh, yes," The architect nodded and sketched again.

Barbara and Tommy looked at the result, and smiled.

"That's it, then?" Charlie was doubtful.

"Yes," Tommy nodded, feeling lighter than he had in months.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Inspector Brian Cook, recently single, had liked A/DI Barbara Havers straight off. He'd found her to be just as she seemed - honest, observant, no-bullshit and attractive to boot. In the job, women like her were few and far between.

He was leaning against Barbara's desk at Lothian & Borders CID in Hawick, trying for perhaps the 10th time to talk her into a friendly dinner when he happened to look up and see someone bearing towards them with purpose – a man with a predatory gaze utterly focused on Barbara.

Brian's heart did a sink, sank, sunk.

"Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley," the dark-haired man announced himself as he approached, long coat open to a bespoke suit and a tie probably worth a month's pay.

"Inspector Brian Cook," he straightened and shook the other man's hand.

"Hiya," Barbara said warily, leaning back in her chair.

"Just off a scene not too far from here, thought I would stop in and see how you were doing."

"Our primary suspect on the robberies just went into labor," Barbara sighed.

"That's a new one," Tommy shook his head.

"You're telling us," Brian chuckled. "I was just trying to talk Havers here into a pint."

"Sounds like an idea," Tommy glanced back at his tired-looking girlfriend and willed her to meet his eyes. "Barbara?"

She pushed away a pile of papers with a expression of surrender. "You're buying," she announced, trying clamp down on the panic rising inside. She wasn't ready for the world to know about their relationship.

"And dinner, too, if you want it."

"I'll take you up on it even if she won't," Brian said with a grin.

The trio stepped into the night to find that spring was definitely around the corner. The snow was melting and there was a hint of moist warmth in the breeze. They crossed the street and began walking. "The pub has good food," Brian said with a nod.

"Yeah?" Tommy caught Barbara's eye.

She shook her head. It was the copper's local.

Brian wasn't slow by anyone's estimation. He stopped and thought a moment. "There's excellent grub not far from the inn. Bit out of the way, mind, but the food's stunning."

Decided, Barbara and Lynley clambered into his hire car and Brain followed as they headed into the night. They quickly found a table and ordered dinner.

As they settled in over a drink, Brian pulled out his best tales of his many foreign posts. Barbara relaxed enough to tell the story about her and Lynley stuck at a caravan park, and Lynley related an interesting account from his University days of backpacking in Iceland – in winter. Eventually and inevitably, the conversation drifted to the MET and they began finding colleagues in common.

Later, as they stepped back out to the car park, Barbara turned and spontaneously slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. Tommy gave her a pleased half-smile.

"I'm for home, then," Brian inhaled deeply of the fresh night air. "Need a lift?"

"Cheers," Barbara shook her head.

"Good to have met you," he nodded to Tommy. "We'll see each other again, I'm sure."

"Good night," Lynley nodded back. Then he and Barbara strolled off towards Tommy's hire car on the other side of the building.

Watching them go, Brian decided he couldn't hate the bloke. Imperious toff that he was, Tommy Lynley clearly doted on their Barbara. With a whistle, he headed into the night.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Tommy phoned from Newcastle the following weekend just as Barbara was leaving to meet him. "I'm sorry. They've found a body and somehow the locals have decided I should take the case."

"They must like the look of you."

"Just the opposite, I'm sure."

She turned off the engine of the hire car. A spanner in her first truly free weekend she'd had since arriving in Scotland? She just barely stopped herself from throwing a strop.

"Look, we have to sleep sometime. Go on, and I will meet you there."

Barbara's mobile began to vibrate with an urgent text. "I have to go, too. Later, yeah?"

"Please."

Fighting back a dark mood, Barbara climbed back up to the incident room. Turner was leaning against a desk, taking print-outs from the nearby printer.

"You got the text?" he greeted Havers as though she had never left.

"I've got the text. You mind driving?"

"Can't. Haven't seen my hire car in days."

"What?"

"You remember the bird from Hogmanay?"

"Oh, _no_."

"Oh, yeah. I've been all over the shop, _really_," his bluster melted a little.

_As if her evening hadn't already gone all to pot_. "Are you dead from the neck up? You need get the report in."

"What do you think this is?" he indicated the printed sheets he quickly stapled and handed to her. "You're ratty tonight," he added in a mutter.

"And you're the sodding copper who got his hire car nicked!"

Lee exhaled and then nodded.

"We'll finish with this later," Barbara hissed, indicating Iain Shaw approaching.

"Yes, ma'am."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Tommy Lynley was absolutely livid. _It was dark. It was sleeting. It was the middle of nowhere. He was supposed to be in bed with Barbara by now. This was probably some kind of prank call. __**And there were bloody sheep in the middle of the bloody road**_!

A traffic cop tapped on his window, making him jump. "Sorry sir, for your own safety you'll have to turn back. We've got a bit of an official situation, here."

He pulled his warrant card from his pocket. "Which situation would that be, constable? The sheep loose on the motorway?"

"It's because of the fence, Detective Inspector. If you'll follow me?"

He turned up the collar of his overcoat as he stepped out of the Audi and followed the young man up the embankment. Slipping several times in the muddy grass, he arrived at a trampled wire fence. Beyond that, a second one had been clearly cut. At the edge of pristine line of massive evergreens, two SOCO and another constable were attempting to put up a marquee over a body.

"Sir? Inspector Lynley!" Detective Sergeant Winston Nkata came jogging up the hill, his lithe frame handling the terrain easier than Tommy despite a takeaway coffee cup in each hand.

Lynley took his gratefully. "You made good time."

"Sat nav, guv. Couldn't live without it." Winston took off the cover to take a sip, letting the steam warm his face. Sure, Barbara got the holiday assignments to beaches and boardwalks and he got a wet, blustery, flipping ice bath of a Friday night at the Scottish border.

Glancing over at Detective Inspector Toff, though, Winston didn't mind so much. He'd made a bollocks of the Thompson case with that reporter and he knew it'd been Lynley that'd fixed things with Hillier. And Lynley who'd recommended him with Tate.

"Let's make tracks, Winston. The body isn't going to get dryer!"

"Yes, sir," he walked quickly to join the group under the marquee.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Didn't we just leave Scotland?" Barbara spun in her seat, looking back.

"Not technically," Iain shook his head. "The true border extends from where that line of trees ends. There's a 100-yard gap between the signs that no one has been able to explain since they were first installed, thank ye very much. But to be sure, there's been committees to discuss it," he sounded a bit exasperated and Barbara shot him an understanding smile.

A series of flares on the motorway warned them to slow down until they reach a traffic cop. A glance at their warrant cards, the uniform directed them to park along the edge.

"Bloody sheep!" Lee muttered, stepping into a pile of shit.

"Oh, aye," the cop agreed, leading them to the best spot to climb the embankment. "Piles of them."

Barbara held back a giggle as the trio began their ascent.

"Isn't that…" Barbara indicated.

"It's not…" Lee breathed.

"Sir?"

Lynley turned, gobsmacked.

The five of them stood: Lynley and Nkata faced Iain Shaw, Barbara and Lee Turner.

"Bloody hell," Shaw swore. "You must be new."

"Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley."

"Detective Chief Inspector Iain Shaw. Welcome to Scotland, Lynley."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Not usually," he growled. They all stepped deeper under the marquee as the wind changed. "What have we got, here?"

"Female, 28, at first glance looks to be strangled. SOCO says rigor has come and gone. According to her wallet, she's an aide at a pensioner's home in Newcastle."

"Rosemary Costler?"

"How did you know?" Winston looked up from the victim's wallet.

"She worked with Sally Holmes," Lee Turner answered, squatting down to inspect the body closer. "Sweet girl, actually."

"This is related to the pensioners incident?" Winston mused.

"That has yet to be determined," Lynley half-chided, half-answered.

"That settles it, then," Shaw decided. "Jurisdiction is ours, Acting Inspector Havers – you're SIO. Good to have met you, Lynley."

"Quite," his reply was classic Lynley – respectful and sardonic. Fighting his annoyance, Tommy gave over his coffee to Barbara and marched back to the Audi with purposeful strides. Winston passed over the evidence and quickly followed.

It was too dark for her to see if he looked back. She indicated to Lee and turned towards the body to begin the case.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It took over 24 hours, but eventually he sent a short SMS. Instead of writing back, she knocked on his door at the hotel early the following morning.

The pale light of dawn illuminated her tiny features, the blond and ginger highlights in her hair. Her coat was floppy, round-collared, and French blue. She was achingly pretty. "Come in," he said, opening the door wider.

"Heya," her voice was tired as she followed him into the room. "The other night…"

"It was not your fault."

"Obviously," Barbara snorted. "This what it was like, then? All those times it was you watching me get knocked about?"

"What are you…" he looked over at her, his eyes snapping with anger. "That little prank was a waste of resources and time during a critical murder investigation! It wasn't a schoolyard tug of a girl's braid, Havers!"

"Of course," she murmured.

"For Heaven's sake," Lynley swore.

"So do you…"

"This is funny to you, is it?"

"Extremely," she agreed, sanguine. Although Tommy's temper had grown more vicious since Helen's death, she had become less afraid of it. In fact, if there was one person she was the least afraid of on Earth – it had to be Thomas Lynley. Despite his jowly frown aimed directly at her, Barbara just relaxed against the bed pole.

"And what, exactly, do you find so amusing?" His tone was a whip-strike of challenge.

"The sheep shit, mostly. The tyres on your hire car still reek of it. I noticed out in the car park."

"The…sheep shit?"

"Mostly."

"Anything else?"

"The expression on Winnie's face when Shaw said 'You must be new,'" she nodded. "The expression on YOUR face when he said 'Welcome to Scotland.'"

Lynley cleared his throat. It was the preferred alternative to snapping the bed pole in half with his bare hands. "Anything _else_?"

"The way you handed me your coffee as you stormed off."

"Oh, if this is about treating you as my subordinate then let me assure you..."

"No."

"No?"

"I looked at it and thought about all the cups we've handed to each other over the years. I'll be staying out in the cold so you gave me your coffee. It's what I would have done, too."

Tommy watched her eyes soften and felt his temper slip away. "What made me angriest was that…there was a moment, when I saw you and was…the thought of working a case together…"

"Yeah. I miss being in the job with you, too."

"I've always believed we should stay close to what makes us happy."

"Murder makes you happy?"

"Working cases with you makes me happy."

"Oh."

"And I missed you last night."

"I've missed you, too."

"My foul temper? My shit-covered tyres?"

"All of you."

She kissed him. It tasted sweeter because she was the one to initiate it. Finally, they reached for each other – passionate and impatient, as though making up for lost time.

Much, much later, they found supper at a local pub. Just as they were tucking in, Barbara's mobile vibrated. It was Lee Turner with an update on the aide's murder.

"Where are you? A pub?"

"Just having a bite," Barbara acknowledged. "So, have the CCTV tapes arrived from the area petrol stations?"

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Are you eating?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm half-starved, ma'am," he whined. "And skint. Buy me supper?"

"Cadge yourself something. About the…"

"The tapes? They've arrived. Almost done with them, yeah?" Lee rang off quickly after that. Barbara was left looking at her mobile in confusion.

"What was all that?"

"Lee Turner. He's barking," she announced. "You don't notice it, at first. But after sustained exposure, it becomes clear."

"He likes you," Tommy guessed, fighting a twinge of jealousy.

"Daft. As. A. Brush."

They went back to their food. Just over 30 minutes later, Inspector Brian Cook and DC Turner plopped down at Barbara's table.

"This one told me that if I gave him a lift, you'd buy us supper," Brian nodded at Lee.

"He lied."

"Ma'am!" Lee clapped a hand over his heart.

"Come on, take pity on a pair of poor, lonely sods."

"No pity for that one – he's about as lonely as a tom. Ask how he got his hire car nicked!"

"But skint!"

"Completely brassic," Brian agreed. "She's leaving me with nowt and less to show for it."

"Using your divorce for sympathy," Barbara shook her head.

"What else is it good for?"

Barbara relented to smile.

Brian looked at the empty chair. "So…where's Lynley?"

Barbara froze, her eyes darting towards Turner.

"Oi, his lordship's here and all?" Lee looked around.

"Give over," Brian indicated the jacket hung over the back of the fourth chair.

Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous to pretend. "He's in the gents'."

An apple-cheeked woman announced the beginning of the quiz, and Brian and Lee demanded they join in. As they ordered their own suppers, Barbara dug through her bag for a pen. When the first query came for the collective noun for guinea fowl, the trio gave each other a blank looks.

"Oh, we're in the money for sure at this rate," Lee groaned, shovelling chips in his mouth.

"It's a confusion," Tommy announced, lifting a hand in greeting to Brian.

"Hiya," Barbara smiled up to him, her heart rate suddenly erratic.

"Hello," Brian agreed.

"A confusion of guinea fowl," he reminded Barbara, heading back to the bar.

"You're telling me," she exhaled, noting the answer on their paper.

Tommy returned with his drink. There was a moment of awkwardness as he sat down and gave Lee a hard look, "How did you know we were here?"

At Tommy's glare, Lee folded. "I heard the quiz announcement in the background."

"There's only one 'Tup & Ewe' in all of Britain, I should think," Brian pointed out.

"Shhh," Barbara tapped the pen onto the paper, thinking. "England's lowest team score."

"All-time?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah," Barbara nodded.

"It'd be an old one. I remember something, like 26…" Brian guessed.

"I think you're right," Lynley nodded. "The 1955 match with New Zealand."

"Brilliant," Lee smiled.

"Don't get comfortable," Barbara chided. "You've still got the CCTV from the petrol station to review."

"Finished," Turner answered. "Every last minute of it – Docherty helped. Didn't find a damn thing."

Brian devoured the last of his supper and reached for Barbara's discarded plate. At Tommy's lifted eyebrow, he grinned. "Aye, we're a chummy lot."

Barbara met Tommy's gaze and half-smiled. "Just like at the Met."

Tommy coughed.

"Water of life," Brian tapped the paper.

"You were saying?"

"The word Whisky means 'water of life'," the inspector explained. "Ye Gods, I agree with the mite - we can win this bloody quiz. What's the pot?"

"_Mite_?" Turner looked outraged.

"Holy Hell."

"What?" Barbara and Brian looked over at Tommy.

"What is the largest private estate in Cornwall?" the question was repeated.

"It's not…" she gaped.

"Of course not," Tommy shook his head. "It's Tregothnan."

"And for a bonus, what is the second largest private estate in Cornwall?"

"_There_ it is," Brian laughed.

"You're joking," Barbara gasped.

"You didn't know?"

"Why would I?"

"Do you keep her in a jar?" Brian asked Tommy.

"Apparently," Tommy responded, acerbically. All the same, he wrote 'Howenstow' on the paper.

In the end, they won fifty quid and a free round.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter's son Alexander was born on Shrove Tuesday, ahead of schedule. The new baby weighed barely half a stone but had ten fingers and ten toes, alert blue eyes, and a head full of sandy hair (which quickly leant a nickname.)

Barbara hadn't been looking forward to Easter at Howenstow, and tried to draw the line at accompanying Tommy to Portsmouth. In the end, she capitulated for a brief weekend holiday.

"Back for work on Tuesday," she reminded him.

"Agreed."

Barbara landed in London on Good Friday and was quickly whisked off to a quiet lounge she'd never known existed. Tommy met her there with Judith, Stephanie and her pale boyfriend, Rufus. She'd barely time to start a pint when they were called for their flight.

Daze was already at the house on Hilltop Crescent when they arrived. Barbara smiled to see the usually perfectly coiffed woman with no make-up and a cloth nappy thrown over one shoulder. Daze looked miles more approachable than usual.

Judith stepped forward to embrace her mother. Stephanie quickly followed, bussing her grandmother's cheek.

"How's everyone?"

"Sleeping, thankfully," Daze flashed a tired – but glowing – smile to her eldest as Tommy also leaned over to kiss her.

Rufus nodded as he took up the rear. Peter jogged down the stairs grinning and Tommy quickly embraced him in a heartfelt and uncharacteristic bear hug. "Portia and the baby are well?"

"Perfect!" Peter smiled. "She was _amazing_, Tommy. Simply amazing! Six hours start to finish, barely enough warning to make it to hospital. It was…" he ran out of adjectives and just held up his hands helplessly, "…amazing!"

"Thank God," Tommy answered, his voice rough with emotion. _He tried not to picture Helen. He tried not to think of his own lost son, Jasper._ _It was Peter's time. Peter's... _

As Judith took up the questioning, Barbara slipped her small hand into his. Tommy looked down in surprise. Then he slowly squeezed, feeling her support.

"Come up and meet him," Peter cajoled.

"Yeah?" Barbara whispered.

"Uh," Tommy cleared his throat. "Of course."

He felt the warmth slip away as he followed his sister and brother up to the bedrooms and Barbara lagged behind with Daze, Stephanie and Rufus. They waited their turn in the hallway, listening as Tommy congratulated the new mother and murmured a welcome to baby Sandy.

That night, Barbara and Tommy booked into one of those upscale boutique hotels he favoured _("not enough room at the house," Barbara had translated to mean "not enough privacy"._)

"What about you?" he'd asked as they'd tucked into bed.

"Me?"

"Babies."

"Sandy's adorable…"

"You know what I mean."

"No. I mean, I hadn't really thought about it."

He rolled to face her, propping up on one elbow. "Everyone's thought about it."

"Not me. Unless they invent some new way of doing it – it hasn't been a likely possibility in my life, now has it?"

"It is, now," he reminded her.

"No," she scoffed. _They were, after all, taking double precautions_.

"Barbara…"

"I can't."

"Can't?"

"Could you see me? Not bloody likely. I don't have that mothering gene."

"You're wonderful with Hadi."

"As an honorary aunt, sure."

"It's more than that. You've always fought hardest for children."

"Someone should."

He sighed.

She bit her lip. _This was one more of those things she couldn't give him that he should have…_

Tommy pulled her onto his chest and held her tightly. "All I ask is that you leave the door open, all right?"

"Hmmm," she couldn't give him an answer. In her heart, Barbara just didn't see herself as a mum.

Early next morning, Turner woke her with news that a body found in the Threipmuir Reservoir some weeks back had been identified.

"Someone _finally_ reported her missing," Lee growled. A case like that weighed on everyone. "An aunt up in Darlington who'd been expecting her for the Easter holiday. The victim was Cassandra Stewart, just turned 22. Was working in Newcastle at a shop last the aunt knew, and sharing her flat with a bunch of other girls."

"And none of them noticed her gone?"

"There's no phone number associated with the address. These days, everyone has a mobile, anyway."

"Get the names of her flatmates. Track each one down. Positive identification?"

"Your Tony is checking against dental records now but we've got a preliminary match based on the aunt's description. The birthmarks especially."

Barbara let the sarcastic '_Your Tony'_ go. "Get SOCA back on the reservoir."

"It's cold, ma'am," he was referring to the time lapsed since the body was found.

"I know. Go with them, get them engaged. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"They've got you as acting senior detective," he grumbled as she rang off with Lee. "Bootstrapping this secondment indefinitely…"

"Just until their other DI gets back from Maternity Leave…"

Tommy held up a hand; he'd heard it before. This was the third excuse Lothian & Borders had given for extending Barbara's assignment but they both knew that she hadn't fought very hard to come back South. She'd sunk her teeth into the experience of running her own show and Shaw had actually turned out to be a supportive guv – albeit one who held on tight to a good thing like Barbara.

"How many active cases are you handling?"

"Four," Barbara admitted. "Including what looks now like two murders."

"Then it's past time. What about Nkata?"

"Nkata?"

"You need another seasoned investigator on board, Barbara. You can't do it all."

"But…" She considered. "I don't have the authority…"

"Of course you do," he shook his head. "How many times have I called you up over the years? Never take responsibility for anything without the resources to acquit yourself successfully," Lynley advised. "And your credo of 'it's always easier to ask forgiveness than permission' certainly applies when it comes to staffing."

"MY credo?" she lifted her eyebrows.

He lifted his own.

"Yeah, ok," Barbara capitulated.

"Look, it's not like we're overflowing with experienced detectives back at the Yard but right now I'd say your need is most pressing. It's that or risk failure."

Nkata answered on the second ring. "Barbara?"

"I need you moving, Winnie. There's a direct flight to Edinburgh in less than 2 hours."

"You're joking."

"No joke. A case that was going cold just got hot. Turner is on-site with the locals, you'll be met at the airport by one of the PC's."

Nkata groaned. "Turner?"

"Treat him well – you're SIO on this one, DS Nkata, until I get there and maybe longer. Not sure how this fits in to another case we're working. Turner will fill you in."

"SIO? Cheers, Barbara! I mean –uh– Acting Inspector Havers."

Barbara grinned. "I'll see you there."

It would be his first lead on a murder. Winston wanted to punch the air with joy. "Right. I'm leaving now."

"Regular updates," she ordered.

Winston was about to ring off when he heard a familiar baritone in the background. He'd know that voice in his sleep. And sometimes in his nightmares. "Give the guv my best, then. Congratulations on the new nephew."

Barbara paused. "Will do."

Tommy rang off with Charlie a moment later. "We're set for the flight out tonight. How did Nkata take it?"

"He's doing cartwheels down the halls as we speak," she acknowledged. "Uh, you're coming to Edinburgh?"

"Since that's where you're going, yes," he closed the lid to his laptop with a finger. "Tomorrow's Easter…"

"And you should be with…"

"You," his deep eyes met hers.

"But your family, and the new baby…"

"_Don't_," he cut her off. "We've got to be done with this now."

"Done?" she challenged, unsure what he meant but entirely familiar with the tone.

"Relationships can't be built part-time, Barbara."

"Wait a minute, what happened to your big words from last year? Promising that we could go as slow as I wanted?"

"Slow implies progress."

"Pardon me? What about Christmas at Howenstow with the family! Every weekend! Here and… and… talking about babies!"

"Interludes! I want the day-in and day-out. I want share a home – or, at least, a city. I want a life _together_, Barbara!"

They stared at each other, breathing heavily. The deep vertical lines between their eyes announcing their frustration.

"God," Tommy swore, dragging a hand through his hair.

"It's too much," Barbara told him, her voice an octave softer.

"What is?"

"All of it. I think… I think I need some time."

"Yes, fine," he turned his back to her, looking out the window at hazy Portsmouth morning.

In the quiet, Barbara quickly packed up her few things and left to spend a long, long day sitting in a small airport.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was late Spring but felt like Autumn in Hawick – blustery, wet wind that crashed branches into windows and an overcast sky that made late afternoon into midnight. The conference table was littered with cables and print-outs and half-finished cups of tea and coffee.

At the end, Nkata stood by the whiteboard and tried to make sense of the snake's nest of information. Turner and Docherty sat with a third DC – Andwell – and checked frame after frame of security videos against photographs of possible suspects.

Barbara looked up at her team with exhausted eyes and accepted that they were all running on empty. "Right," she announced, standing up. "Time for a pint. I'm buying."

With yips of relief, everyone snapped up jackets and umbrellas and made their way down the street to the local. Barbara stopped in shock as her eyes adjusted to the room – there was Tommy and Brian at a table.

Turner pushed past her to join the other men, followed by Stella and the new guy. Finally, she pointed her feet in their direction.

"Making him buy me a round while I'm still here," Brian announced, moving down a seat so Barbara could slip in between him and Tommy.

"What?" Barbara felt the surprise in her blood.

"The divorce is final, now. Bits split, papers signed. Time for a new vista, wouldn't you say?"

"Not another international secondment?"

"Oh, aye," Brian waved his beer. "Kosovo. Executive policing. The 'executive' means more paperwork and less actual policing."

"Kosovo?" Barbara breathed with concern.

"I'll essentially be giving training on police technologies, old girl. No worries."

"When do you leave?"

"About a fortnight, is what they said. Long enough for you to tie off this Aide case, don't you think?"

"That's the million-Euro question around here," Lee sighed. "Another round, sir?"

"No, I've got to get going," Tommy stood. He took a quick, last look at Barbara – the real reason he'd taken the errand of delivering some evidence from Newcastle. Now that he'd seen she was all right – a bit frail looking, but all right – it was time to leave.

Barbara couldn't stop herself from watching him go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a rare brilliant day in the borderlands – deep blue skies, bright ball of sun, grass a stunning green. Nkata huffed as he pulled on his new wellies - which he was no big fan of wearing (_like condoms for feet_).

The rest of the team was already spread out, following tracks. Like Nkata and herself, they were all carrying short-wave radios and wearing fluorescent vests to protect from being mistaken by hunters.

Cassandra Stewart and Rosemary Costler had been linked – the two women had once been flatmates, and they'd even dated brothers. The one who'd dated Cassandra had been Roald Glover. He had moved on from Cassandra to Sally Holmes. Glover had been the ex-boyfriend who'd 'accidentally' erased the Christmas SMS to Sally.

Unfortunately, they'd discovered it literally a day too late. Sally had been released pending a finding of psychiatric distress and was to have reported to a day treatment program that morning. She'd vanished.

"This guy is a piece of work, yeah?" Winnie winced as he stepped into the muddy field. He loved London and its parks. Loved holidays to picturesque places. But all in all, was not a fan of bugs, bogs, or the feeling he was always about to fall into slippery muck.

Barbara snorted impatiently and led the way down their allotted route. "You think Glover's the mastermind?"

"Don't you?"

"Come on," Havers chided him to hurry along.

"Right," he gamely caught up. "The forensic accountants certainly have proof enough that the care homes were being siphoned but found nothing of the missing money with any of these girls."

"And that the 'fit' Mrs. Fuchs was having on Christmas Eve was about her missing pin money." It was another piece of the puzzle that had come in only recently as the pensioners had recovered enough for sustained questioning.

But it had been the mud and Barbara's keen eye that broke the case. She'd been reviewing security videos from petrol stations when she'd finally noticed it. An ancient Land Rover with a male driver, cap pulled low, who paid with cash. The interesting bit – only the passenger's side was truly muddy. As though the driver had pulled over onto an embankment, leaving the driver's side on firmer ground.

_Like the area where Rosemary had been found. _

From there, the case had snowballed. The Land Rover had been traced to Raold's brother except he'd had been working abroad since his break-up with Rosemary.

"Shouldn't dogs be doing this, or something?" Nkata complained as they continued along the tracks.

"Look around you," Barbara shook her head. "Thousands of acres, Winston. Dozens of tracks from hikers, hunters, and just kids out in their parents' all-wheel drive for a jolly. Cook is POLSA with maybe a half-dozen trained coppers available for a search –and that's for the entire district. Everyone's got to help. We're just lucky the weather's holding so we can see the mud trails."

"Oh, lucky indeed," he muttered.

They continued on for another half mile in relative silence. The Land Rover had last been spotted heading down to the field the night before by a pair of lovebirds who'd responded to DCI Shaw's media appeal.

"What now?"

Barbara looked at how the tracks they'd been following split into two fainter sets that headed off on their own. "Uh, you take left and I'll take right. Careful, yeah? Keep your eyes open. If you see anything, report in on the radio."

"Yes, ma'am," he inflected the word so she couldn't tell if he meant to be respectful or tease her for being like a mum. _Cheeky bastard_.

Twenty minutes later, Winston's shout echoed across the cool, bright fields.

Barbara waved her radio over her head and then pressed 'talk'; "Go ahead, Nkata."

"Over there," he responded, then moving his arm in a wide motion to indicate a dark spot ahead of him.

Barbara and many other volunteers pulled small binoculars up to inspect. Sure enough, it looked like the top of a vehicle parked in a small depression.

"This is Cook. On my way," Brian reported over the channel.

"Docherty as well," Stella announced.

Barbara began jogging through the uneven ground, tripping a bit here and there.

Winston edged a little closer and lifted the radio back to his mouth, "there's a mound next to the car. Everything looks empty."

"Hunting blinds are supposed to look empty," Barbara taunted, a little out of breath as she approached.

"To little woodland creatures, I suppose. But I'm a trained detect…"

The crack of the rifle echoed like thunder over the fields. A sudden commotion as dozens of birds took flight. And then, silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Step aside," Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley, Lord Asherton, used a voice that brooked absolutely no argument. The A&E attendant gave way and he pushed past the curtain.

Barbara looked tiny on the hospital bed. His eyes quickly scanned her form for injury – there was a bandage around her ankle, which was lifted by a sling. Splatters of browned blood on her arm. And a small bandage on her forehead. Any other damage was hidden by the patient gown.

"And you are?" the doctor at her side challenged.

"Thomas Lynley, her partner," Tommy gripped the rail tightly.

"Not family, then."

"No," he sighed. "I mean, yes. She hasn't any except an aunt who's in Whales. I'm her family," he whispered. "Her leg? Will she be all right?"

"Absolutely. We think the foot's broken, x-ray will confirm."

"What about the blood?"

"She landed on some rocks and suffered abrasions along her head, side, and to her arm."

"Why isn't she awake?"

"I'm assuming the knock did it, or the shock. It's not a coma, and her brain activity looks good. We'll do a CT in addition to the x-rays to be on the safe side."

"Safe side of what?"

"Swelling to the brain, internal bleeding…" the doctor scanned the chart. "You said you're her _partner_?"

The inflection was unmistakable. "Yes," Tommy confirmed.

"Then is there any chance she could be pregnant? If so, we'll need to draw and test before radiology. I'd prefer not to delay if we don't need to."

Tommy remembered from Helen's pregnancy about the risks of x-rays. He did the math in his head. "No, she's not."

The attendants arrived to wheel Barbara to the radiology department. "You can wait in the lounge," the doctor advised. "I'll have one of the sisters advise you when they're done."

"Thanks," he dragged his hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. As Tommy turned around, he came face-to-face with DCI Iain Shaw. He knew in a flash that the other man had heard the conversation. His jaw tensed but he kept his expression neutral.

"We've met before," Shaw noted.

"Yes."

"How is she?"

"Unconscious. Broken foot. How's Nkata?"

"They're operating on him now," Shaw indicated the hallway and the two men walked out to the lounge. A small crowd was gathered. Brian Cook stood and joined Shaw and Lynley as they approached.

"What the hell happened out there?" Tommy demanded, barely able to keep his temper under control.

"Apparently, Glover attempted to kill Sally Holmes with a Remington 700 loaded with .458 Winchester Magnums," he held up a baggie with a bloody cartridge over 7cms long. Shaw and Lynley stared at the massive brass ammunition with horror.

"They took this from DS Nkata's shoulder. The rifle is meant for dangerous game hunting, like wild boar," Cook explained. "They're tracking where Glover got it. It appears he heard Havers and Nkata just as he was pulling the trigger and the shot went wild. It passed through Holmes' side and then traveled 10 yards and into Nkata. He is incredibly lucky. They all are."

"You're telling me Holmes is alive?"

"Massive blood loss but hanging in there. The search absolutely saved her life. Nkata's collarbone is broken in three places and the muscles around his should are ripped up but otherwise he'll be fine. He landed on Havers – how is she?"

"Unconscious. They're sorting out why."

"Glover's in custody and not talking but that's neither here nor there – a dozen witnesses converged on the scene. He's sorted."

"Get that cartridge to Evidence immediately," Shaw ordered. "I'll be at Midlothian with the suspect."

Cook nodded and headed out with Docherty playing driver. Shaw turned towards Lynley, "Please keep me posted. If there's anything she needs…"

_I hate hospital sympathy_, Tommy thought to himself almost idly. "Of course. I'll contact Nkata's mother, as well."

Shaw looked like he was about to argue then thought better of it. He nodded and left.

"Sir?" One of the A&E sisters called. "She's asking for you."

Lynley turned and began jogging down the hall.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He slipped into the room and found her green eyes, huge in her elfin face, locked on him.

"Hiya," she said, a little hoarsely.

"Barbara," he gave her a relieved half-smile.

"What happened?"

He pulled a chair over and draped his leather jacket over it before taking a seat near enough to hold her hand. "You saved Sally Holmes' life."

"She's alive?"

"Hanging in there, though by the look of the shell it's a bloody miracle."

"And Winston. Is he… is he…?"

"He's fine. Broken collarbone."

"Glover?"

"In custody."

"Thank God," she breathed. "Nkata's really all right?"

"I promise. You buffered his fall beautifully."

"_That's_ what happened to me?"

"Yes. You have a broken foot and damage from the rocks."

"Hurts."

"I imagine so."

She inspected his face – the creases seemed deeper, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "What's with you?"

"My partner gave me a hell of a scare," he sighed, cupping her hand against his cheek. "Though, to be honest, I haven't been sleeping well."

"Me neither," she admitted, feeling the bristles of his five o'clock shadow with her fingertips.

"Good."

"Good?"

"It's nice to know you haven't been dancing on the bar while I've been twisting in the wind."

"Hardly twisting, I would…"

"Please," he whispered.

"Since you asked like that," she exhaled with a twitch of smile. "_Sir_."

"I should put you over my knee for that one."

"Just you try," Barbara challenged. Then she glanced down at her leg. "Well, wait a while yet."

He settled back in the chair. "Look…" he cleared his throat. "You and I…that is to say…"

"Say what?"

"Perhaps I _have_ been pushing," Tommy confessed. "The thing is, well…I suppose, at my age, perhaps there's been this sense of…of wanting it all to come together."

"What, like a case?"

"Hardly," he rubbed his fingertips into a tired eye and sighed. "This is neither the time nor the place…"

"No," she agreed.

"But I just wanted to say, when I got the call. _Christ_. I just want you to know, even if we're in a disagreement…"

"What?"

"I just…"

"I'm sorry."

"You…"

"What?"

"I love you, Barbara."

"Oh."

She swallowed, loudly. _Lying in a hospital cot, foot in traction, bandages itching and sodding Thomas frigging Lynley announces he loves her?! Bastard!_

"I've pushed again," he realized.

"A bit," her head was beginning to throb.

He nodded to himself and stood. "I'll be…" Tommy pulled on his jacket and tried to think of a way to end the sentence. "…Back." It was lame but it would do. He shot out of the room, out the hall, and out the door to the parking lot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Havers?" Deputy Commissioner Hillier stuck his head around the door.

"Sir!" Barbara struggled to sit up straighter.

He waved away her efforts and took a seat. "How are you?"

"Fine, really. Just another couple of days of traction and then it'll be a moonboot and back to work for me."

"Well, don't rush things. I've said as much to Nkata. We want you at 100%."

"Yes, sir."

"You've heard about the commendation?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. Because of your call, a young woman's life was saved and a proper result was made on the Aide case."

Barbara nodded.

"I know you've had an offer? Permanent transfer to Scotland?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. If it's all the same."

"They knew it was doubtful you'd accept," Hillier shrugged. "What about another temporary secondment?"

"I think I'd just like to come back to the Met, if it's all the same."

"That's exactly where you're most needed - though it appears you're awfully popular at the moment." He looked around at the many bouquets of flowers.

"Oh, and thank you for yours,' Barbara gamely smiled, trying to remember which it was.

"Don't mention it," Hillier didn't know, either. His secretary had been the one to order them. "This is also for you."

Barbara looked at the document the AC was holding out with confusion before accepting it and reading it. She couldn't help the smile that stretched her lips, or the blush heating her cheeks.

"Detective Inspector Havers. Has quite a ring to it, yes?"

"Thank you, sir!" Barbara reached across the bedrail and shook Hiller's hand awkwardly.

"Congratulations. I'm excited about your future; you are a fine detective, Havers." He surprised himself with the truth of it. Once upon a time, he'd worked to have her implode by partnering Havers with Lynley. Instead, it had been the making of the two of them. He gave himself no little credit for that.

"Thanks," Barbara breathed again, watching Hillier excuse himself in a daze.

"Barbara? "Brian stood in the doorway, staring at his frazzled friend.

"Oh. Hiya."

"Was that DC Hillier? Pretty far from New Scotland Yard, isn't he?"

Barbara nodded, her eyes shining with delight.

He sat down. "What's up, then?"

"I've got my pips."

"You have? That's wonderful! Congratulations," he leaned over to squeeze her hand.

She didn't move.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm more excited about this than you are?"

"Oh, what?"

"Never mind, Detective Inspector Havers," he taunted. In a flash of insight, Brian knew that he wasn't the person with whom she'd want to be sharing the moment. He went in search of Lynley.

He didn't have to go far.

"She's got some news," Brian told Tommy in the hallway.

"From Hillier? What is it?"

"Ask her."

With an exasperated sigh, Lynley pushed himself from the wall and crossed over to Barbara's room.

Her smile was incandescent. "I've got my pips!"

"About time!" he reached for her and Barbara wrapped her arms around his neck. "Detective Inspector Havers!"

"Yes, Detective Inspector Lynley?"

"I'm proud, Barbara. Well done."

She felt the sting of tears and pulled him closer. There was no way to explain how much his words meant to her.

Although he was bent awkwardly over the bedrail, Tommy didn't break the embrace. Nothing in the world could pull him from her side.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the next week, the dust settled. Barbara and Tommy watched on the telly in her hospital room as Shaw and Hillier gave an interesting joint press conference that revealed the results of the last months of Barbara's life: the calculated neglect of the pensioners, the siphoning of monies, the murders, the arrest of Roald Grover and the ongoing investigation into the care home.

Once she was released, Tommy helped pack up her things and they road by rail home to London. Charlie met them at the station and helped transition everything into the Bristol before heading off on his own.

"Where to?"

It was a loaded question. "Chalk Farm," she answered.

Tommy didn't argue – he'd been expecting it. They didn't talk as he drove. Or even as he'd helped Barbara into her flat and then fetched her bags.

"Your plants have come back to life," he broke the silence, indicating the bit of wilderness by the bay window. Azhar had stepped in. Under his green thumb, Barbara's lounge had become a mini-arboretum.

"He's a miracle worker," she agreed.

Tommy swallowed back his jealousy and put on the kettle.

"We should talk," she ventured, softly.

"Yes, please," He brought two mugs over and settled himself in the small armchair facing Barbara on the sofa. "I don't want to lose you, Barbara."

"I don't want to lose you, either," she promised.

"I can practice more patience," he offered. "But I need to know we're going in the same direction."

"Why do we have to be going anywhere?" she wondered. . "I like how we are. I like the spaces between us. Maybe I spent too much of my life alone to be comfortable living together…"

"Nonsense."

The silence fell between them like a rock. Tommy and Barbara stared at each other.

"Do you blame me? For wanting us settled and secure? For wanting more of you, for wanting a _life_ with you?"

"No," she breathed. "I don't blame you. I just wish... I just wish I could give it to you. But I don't know how."

"It's not that bloody difficult…"

"It's impossible!" she corrected him, adamantly. "Tommy, women come in a certain model for you and I'm not it. Whatever you say," she forestalled his argument. "Listen, yeah? This is about _me_. I don't fit in that domestic image you've got. I _want_ to be in the job. I _need_ to be. I hate cocktail parties. I'm shit at shopping and decorating and most things domestic. And that's where your road leads. Me freezing in a fancy flat while you save the world and miss supper. No, Tommy. Just… no.""

"That is ridiculous." Barbara's injury obviously had her feeling fragile and unreasonable. "We'll talk about it later, when you're feeling better."

Before she could say another word, he was on his way home to Hammersmith.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thank you," Deborah St. James smiled at the maitre d' as she dropped into a chair across from Tommy. Due to the rare un-London-like warmth of the early June evening, Lynley had requested a private balcony tables that was open to the sky. Deb's smile was appreciative.

"Where's Simon?"

"In the lobby. Work call," she rolled her eyes. A few moments later, the man himself joined them and they ordered. Tommy had the Moyallon veal chop; Simon and Deborah some vegetable kebab things and Orkney scallops. They discussed work, politics and friends in common over cocktails. The discussed Peter's growing family and Deborah's father's health over starters. When the main courses arrived, they fell silent and enjoyed the food. Feeling mellow, Tommy ordered a tawny port to finish. Deborah had the Château Partarrieu. A cheese plate sat between them, untouched.

"I'll need to do an extra round of cardio tomorrow morning to pay for this," Deborah murmured after a sip of her wine, showing no regret.

"I'll simply use money," Tommy teased.

"We're neither of us getting younger," she argued, a pointed glance at his crow's feet.

"Now, _children_," Simon groaned, oldest of the three.

"How goes the new flat?" Deborah asked.

"Coming along, I should think. The last of the furniture is due from storage. The French oak - do you remember it?"

"The Henri II? Didn't Peter carve his name into one of the headboards?"

"Yes. And I noticed that he wasn't the first. I've discovered dear old dad's name along a side rail."

"You're joking!" Deborah's nose wrinkled with pleasure. "So how are the plans for Ascot? Is Judith doing the whole season for them, do you think?" Deborah asked.

"Lord, I hope not. If Rufus wants a Sloane Ranger or whatever the hell they're called now, he can bloody well find another girl's coattails to ride."

"_Tommy_," Deborah chided. "Give the boy a chance."

"Please. Stephanie hated Ascot both times we took her. The second time, Mother practically fled in frustration."

"I remember that - it was sleeting, for God's sake," Simon pointed out.

"So Stephanie is besotted and, perhaps, showing off a bit for her the young man. But you've said they are both maintaining honors in their studies and according to Judith, he's got a future."

"We'll see," he made the point with a sweep of his snifter before taking another swallow.

"So, back to Barbara."

"Or not."

"Oh, Tommy," the '_what have you done now'_ Deborah left unsaid.

"Let me ask you; was I such a horrid husband?"

"Yes," she answered promptly. Almost emphatically.

"Take your time to think it over!" Tommy sputtered. He looked to Simon for aid but the other man held up a hand that clearly said '_I'm with her_.'

"Truth?"

Tommy paused. "Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Balford-le-Nez," Deborah said simply.

It was a body blow, and he recoiled. "That was…"

"Work?" she finished for him.

"Exactly."

Their eyes locked and suddenly Tommy knew, _knew_, that somehow Deborah was aware that he had been the one to ring Webberly from his honeymoon, hunting for his missing Havers. That he'd been the one to offer to travel to Balford. That Barbara's temporary assignment to Emily Barlow at Balford CID had sent him into a small panic. And if Deborah knew, that meant… _Helen had known_. Tommy rubbed his cheek roughly, shame and confusion pressing into him. "That was work," he repeated.

"You've said," Deborah agreed mildly.

"I never meant to hurt her," Tommy swore, trying to remember the exact lines of Helen's face. The exasperated smile that she saved just for him.

"Of course you didn't. You loved her. And she loved you, too, Tommy. I've never seen her so happy as after you'd reconciled. "

_After Helen had the lost the baby, and disappeared. And Barbara had been shot, and Tommy had spent days pacing hospital corridors. After Helen had recuperated at her sister's, alone, while Barbara had recuperated at a retreat centre with Tommy not 45 minutes down the road waiting for her at Howenstow. _He didn't want to look at his actions. He didn't want to see any of it. Tommy closed his eyes for a long moment.

"_I'm not having an affair with her!" He'd shouted at Helen once. "I sometimes wish you were!" She'd shouted back. _

"What's this about, Tommy?" Simon accepted a small cup of coffee from the server with a polite nod.

"Uh…" he looked away, up at the stars for a moment. Gathered his thoughts.

"Barbara's pegged you as bad husband material?" Deborah asked, a little teasingly.

"Something like that, yes," he admitted, huskily.

"Oh, _Tommy_."

"You'll sort it," Simon assured his old friend.

Tommy gave them a terrifically frightening attempt at a smile. "We'll see."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Barbara remained on leave into the following week. On Tuesday, Tommy found a dinner invitation from her in his voice mail after an endless conference. He arrived in Chalk Farm promptly at half-seven with flowers and a bottle of wine.

Hadi had spent some of her afterschool hours visiting and together the girls had managed rice, kebabs, and some sort of curry. All surprisingly edible. All, Barbara had confessed, from a beginner's cookbook she'd ordered over the internet.

Tommy appreciated the effort a spot more than the product, but the whole of it – including the candles on the table – touched him deeply.

Finally, they settled on the sofa with Barbara's moonboot up on a small hassock.

"Did you get the news? Michelle Tate's taken Acting AC of Security Command."

"I knew she was leaving but Security Command? Security's proactive and crime directorate totally reactive. That's a quite a switch."

It always impressed him, how quick Barbara was. "She'll have an uphill climb, I should imagine."

"And now, what? You've been offered the job?" she ventured.

"How'd you guess?"

"You stepped in after Webberly, didn't you? But then you said you didn't want to leave the field."

"Yes." Tommy exhaled. He wasn't used to making his thoughts transparent – not to Barbara, not to Helen, not even to Deborah or Simon. It hadn't been until just this moment that it occurred to him that the conversation was in order. "You're right. I have a decision to make. And I want to discuss it with you."

That surprised her, he could see.

"What's going on?" She asked, giving him her full attention.

"You know the shortages. They won't have two DI's in the same Murder Investigation Team. The Met just doesn't have that kind of depth of field. Hell, these days a MIT is lucky to have even one DI on the team; it's becoming more civilians and recent graduates by the day. If we want to work together then changes must be made."

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. Their maneuvering to protect their partnership went back to the beginning. It had always been assumed that wherever he was, she would be. This, then, was just Tommy making it obvious. "Right," she answered. "But I have to think that me in the field and you as A/AC isn't exactly 'working together' unless you mean the same building."

"Ah, but DCI's are still SIO's. I wouldn't be utterly desk-bound."

"DCI? So you'd take over the MIT? But haven't you been doing that already?"

"In an acting capacity. It's saved me from the worst of the administrative drudgery. But if I step forward to accept it officially, we can continue to work together for some time."

Barbara's cheeks dimpled as she held back a bit of a giggle.

"This is funny?"

"It's a bloody riot. Poor you, made DCI against his will for the sake of..."

"Have your laugh, Havers."

"And when I make DCI, your flimsy excuse for taking AC will be…?"

Her optimism was exhilarating. He suddenly remembered her, appearing at Simon and Deborah's wedding in that egregiously oversized pantsuit and staring daggers at him with those sparkling eyes. Tommy felt a surge of satisfaction that he'd spent the last ten years on this journey with Barbara. That they stood as keepers to so many of each other's experiences. "Barbara…" he said, softly. Seriously.

"Yes," the smile slipped from her face.

"Each time we've had this kind of conversation, it's gone badly," he cleared his throat. "But I'd like to try again."

He stood up and poured himself a nightcap. Took a long swallow. "You were right. I handled being married poorly. I handled many things poorly…" he dragged a hand through his hair, unable to articulate the guilt he carried at his failure. "So let's just say that based on prior actions, I don't blame you for being cautious."

"No, that's not what I meant. You expect a certain kind of woman and…"

"I'm in love with you, Barbara."

She stared at him, struck silent.

"In my 20's, I spent a long time in love with a woman who clearly wasn't in love with me and it wrecked me. It's what, in fact, brought Helen and I together in the first place. And now I'm terrified that it's happened again."

"You're asking…?"

"I'm asking. Because the rest of this? The decorating, the living where, the future, family? We can handle it. We can handle anything. Together, we've proved pretty unbeatable. So I have to believe we can handle this, too. That is, if you feel the same." He put down his drink. And waited.

She looked at his face and checked her heart. It was inconceivable to her that he didn't know. For years, Barbara had been following him around like a baby chick imprinted on the first thing it sees – _how could he not know_? "Does it need saying? We're English."

"We're human," he corrected, his pulse racing. "It needs saying."

"I…" she cleared her throat. "I love you, too."

He could tell by the rough sandpaper of her voice that it had been a long time since she'd said those words to anyone. He cupped her jaw in his hand and grinned, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. _ "Good_."

"I love you," she repeated.

Tommy lifted her up against him and kissed her, _hard_. It was their first kiss in a month and felt like an explosion. "Yes," he groaned, reaching for her shirt.

"Oof," she answered as she twisted her body into his. "My arm. My foot."

"You broken thing," he leaned away in frustration. "I suppose a rain check is in order?"

"Just, maybe, a bed?" she countered.

"Absolutely!" He reached out his arms and helped her up, and together they hobbled to the bedroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Haver's new office was two doors down from Lynley's old office and half the size. There was barely room for the desk and chairs but it did boast a sliver of a view the Thames - if one stood on tiptoes. Which she did, as often as possible.

It was glorious.

Nkata – in a bright blue sling – and Turner had been standing in the hallway waiting on her when she'd arrived.

"What do you have?" she demanded, exhausted with only a few hours sleep. She accepted Turner's coffee offering with a flash of gratitude and settled in.

"Good morning to you, too, Detective Inspector," Nkata grinned.

"And to you, Detective Sergeant," she couldn't help but roll her eyes. More than a week back at the Met and Winnie was still having a grand time with the new titles.

They'd caught their first murder case the day before. A retired copper, so pressure was high. Lynley was taking a lot of heat for a quick result.

"Right. There's a special-needs preschool along the path from the tube stop to the park where the body was found. One of the children there has a kind of autism. All he does all day is look out the window and write down the number plates of cars."

"They've already looked through the security video…"

"Sure," Turner interrupted. "But get this, the kid writes down ALL the reg numbers – even off cars that only drop or pick people up."

"Which aren't caught on the cameras because of the angles," Nkata explained. "He's wizard this kid – give him any date and time and he can just list these things off."

Turner pulled out his Smartphone, thumbing through until he got the right picture and handed it over to Barbara. "It's the reg off a cab that dropped a fare off not two blocks from the park just minutes before the murder."

"Good work," she breathed, pleased. "Now you should…"

"Track down the driver," Nkata finished for her. "We're on it."

Like two kids pleased with some new treasure or toy, the men quickly left to follow up on their lead. Barbara smiled after them, proud of the successful team they'd created.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hiya," she stood in the doorway to his flat. "Forgot my key."

"Hello," he exhaled, reaching for her.

Like a zombie, she stepped into his arms and let him hold her closely. She breathed in the faint smell of him – the very soft musky scent of expensive aftershave and just _him. _It was the scent of the Bristol. It was the scent of his bed pillow. It was the scent of his suit jackets, especially those he draped over her shoulders to ward off a chill. It was the scent of his favorite armchair. It was the scent of his bathrobe, hung on the back of the bathroom door.

Barbara couldn't stop her eyes from watering. She squeezed them tight and buried her face in his chest and felt his hand against the back of her head, his fingers sifting through her hair.

"Here, now," he whispered at her, not understanding. "Here, now, what's wrong?"

Barbara shook her head, unable to speak.

Tommy kissed her forehead before resting his cheek against her. "It's all right. Whatever it is. We'll make it all right," he tied to soothe her.

Barbara inhaled a shaky, gasping breath and tried to control her tears but couldn't.

Tommy kicked the door shut with his foot and just continued to hold her. Rubbed her back slightly.

After she seemed to have let it all out, he tipped her head back to look into her jade eyes. "What's this about?"

"Hadi and Azhar…"

"Are they all right? What's happened?"

"They're emigrating. To Canada. He's taken a position at McGill."

"When?"

"Now," she rubbed her cheeks with the palms of her hands, suddenly embarrassed. "They want him next week, for the Michaelmas term."

"That's rather sudden, isn't it?"

"There was some kind of cancellation, I don't know," she exhaled in a gust. "They're leaving this weekend. _I don't know_… I don't know if they'll be back," Barbara couldn't hold back the return of her tears.

"Oh, Barbara," Tommy was helpless to be of any use. With a sigh, he simply gathered her close and stroked her hair until she let it all out. "Come in," he finally urged. "Stay the night. Things will look better in the morning, all right?"

They wouldn't but Barbara nodded anyway, and let him lead her to bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a chilly rain that forced them to run for the door. Barbara waited while Tommy shook the water from the umbrella to let them in. Once upstairs, they divested themselves of overcoats and sodden shoes. He grabbed a couple of towels and tossed one to her.

"Want me to put on the kettle?"

"Yeah," she agreed, heading to the master bedroom. "I'm soaked through."

Thirty minutes later, she was in her warmest muftis with hands curled around a steaming cuppa at the farmhouse table.

"Warm enough?"

Barbara nodded. Once they were dried off and settled at the table, she launched into an update of the copper's murder. "It's looking more and more like the girlfriend," she explained. "Remember last year, when the victim was given instructions where to go only once he was in the taxi?"

"Yes – the Lawford case."

"Right. Same M.O. here – he received several quick calls from a disposable mobile and relayed the instructions to the driver."

"Do you think the cases are somehow connected?"

"No," she sipped her tea. "Though Turner's tracking it down, just in case."

When she fell silent, Tommy reached out and tugged her fingers to get her attention.

"What?"

He slid a small box across the table. "Happy Anniversary. Very early."

"Anni…?" Barbara lifted the lid slowly, nervously. Exhaling in relief, she pulled a metallic key fob from the velvet. Barbara flipped it over and gave an unladylike snort of laughter. It was a touristy etching of Versailles.

He took it from her gently, and produced her old key ring that just he'd filched from her coat pocket. One by one, he moved her keys over to the new ring. Then, deliberately, he'd added a shiny pair that were clearly duplicates to the flat. "No more forgetting," he announced, sliding the set over.

Barbara fingered the fob with a delicate finger. Leave it to Lynley to turn a gift into a point.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was standing alone at the bar when she spotted him. "Tommy? I was hoping to find you!"

"Isabelle Ardery," he met her smile. "How are you?"

"Fine. Great, in fact," she signalled for a pint.

They'd met during his months of grief, when he'd wandered Cornwall in a stupor and happened to fall on case. Isabelle had been SIO and she'd been kind enough to let him help a bit. There had been some drunken flirting and a bit of drunken kissing that had ended with his hasty retreat back to London. He hadn't seen her since. "So what's new?"

"Well, I heard a rumour that the Met was handing out DCI appointments to just _anyone_, " she grinned. "So I decided it was time to make the move."

"Congratulations!"

"I met with Evans and Hillier this morning, then spent the rest of the day interviewing staff. I think the most they gave me is a DC with two years under his belt."

"It will loosen up. With all the events coming next summer, there will be funds to get some proper detectives."

"Not soon enough," she sighed. "Care to let me buy you a drink in return for some pointers? Maybe I could even talk you into lending me some of your people?"

Tommy dug his card out of his wallet and slid it over to her. "Perhaps tomorrow, at the office?"

Barbara froze as she began making her way from the door. Tommy was standing next to a gorgeous woman who was making cow eyes at him. Then she took a breath and reminded herself that most women made cow eyes at Lynley sooner or later. And infidelity had never been one of his failings.

"Barbara," Tommy called.

"Sorry," she apologized for running late.

"I only just got here myself," Tommy assured her as his hand drifted to the small of her back. "Isabelle, this is Barbara Havers. Barbara, meet Isabelle Ardery, the Met's newest DCI. She's out to poach staff, so be warned."

"Absolutely," Barbara smiled and shook the other woman's hand.

Isabelle had heard of Barbara Havers – who hadn't? Said to be brilliant but insubordinate, obstinate, slavishly loyal to Lynley, and prickly as a hedgehog. However, the fresh-faced woman in front of her wearing smart slacks and a pretty green jacket seemed nothing like that paragon. _Huh._

"Welcome, then," Barbara added politely. "Are you new to London?"

"I was at college here, once upon a time. But since then, I've been with Truro CID."

"Cornwall? So you know each other from there?"

"Yes," Tommy finished his pint.

"Right," Barbara caught his mood. "It was nice to meet you. I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I'm sure," Isabelle echoed as the couple left.

At the flat, Tommy carried a bag of takeaway to the table while Barbara fetched the glasses and wine. "It's good to be home," he exhaled, dropping into a chair. "When was the last time we had a leave day in common?"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Stop that," he scolded. She was right, he'd been inundated with getting up to speed on all the MIT's open cases and the never-ending paperwork.

"Oh, this will cheer you up," she handed him the bottle to pour. "Did I tell you they found Turner's stolen hire car?"

"You're joking! It's been, what?"

"I'd say seven months," she calculated. "He took her to Hogmanay, and she nicked it a couple of months later."

"Who, the thief?"

"Yes."

"I remember now, it was a woman scorned – wasn't it? So all this time he knew who took it but couldn't find it. And we call this man a detective?"

"Calling Lee Turner a _man_ is already stretching things," she laughed. "The problem was lack of anything resembling evidence. I can't begin to tell you the hours he put into looking for that car."

"I thought all hire cars had a satnav location device these days."

"Two, in fact. Both disabled somehow."

"Was the woman a mechanic?"

"No, but her brother was."

"So where did they find it, the car?"

"This is my favorite part – in the car park behind Hawick station."

"What?!"

"They reckon it was pushed in over the grass to avoid the CCTV. Parked in the farthermost stall with muddied plates. It was there for days before anyone noticed. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but it _was_ Lee's birthday last week."

"Childish prank!"

"I'm impressed, too," she took a bite of her pasta and her eyes lit up with pleasure. "SOCO says the whole car had been wiped clean of prints – down to the oil stick thing and the rims. They're even having a challenge with the Edinburgh SOCO tomorrow, who claim that Hawick must have missed something."

"This isn't exactly good publicity," Tommy groaned.

"It's all a bit of fun," she took a swallow of her wine. "Speaking of which…"

"Yes?"

"That commendation for Turner on our retired copper? He was the one who got the evidence that broke the case; he really found a way to connect with that autistic boy. And after this thing with the stolen car, he'll need something good to balance."

"I've already made the notation in his file."

"Thanks. Oh, and I have something for you," she rummaged in her bag and passed him an envelope.

He opened it and had to read twice before it sank in. "You're going to Paris?"

"_We_ are. But only if you want to. And only for a long weekend. Brian said the hotel was good…" she said, suddenly very nervous about the whole thing.

"It's lovely," Tommy confirmed.

"You've been there?"

"It's fairly well known. How did you…?"

"A small compensation cheque from the injury. Charlie helped me find the deal on the internet."

"Well done."

"Thanks," Barbara blushed. "I've never been, well, I've never been anywhere, really, so…"

"So let's go," he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "If I'd known you were interested in traveling, I would have taken you."

"Let's see how this trip goes, first. Then, maybe, Canada?"

"All right," Tommy smiled and read over the reservation listing a third time. Then he noticed the date. "Wait, so you're taking me to Paris for our _Versailles_ anniversary?"

"Surprise?"

This time, he stood and pulled her up into a tight hug. "Brilliant," he whispered in her ear, before kissing her.

"I thought so," she smiled, and kissed him back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Isabelle Ardery rang the bell. The residential neighborhood had a lively feel to it but absolutely no parking on a Friday afternoon. She'd had to walk several blocks.

Lynley answered in his shirtsleeves. "Isabelle?" he stepped back to let her in.

"I wanted to make sure you got it before you left," she handed Tommy an envelope with some files he'd forgotten at the office.

"Come in," he invited, heading down the hall past the formal reception and dining rooms and into the open plan lounge and kitchen at the back.

"Tea?"

"I don't want to keep you."

"Not at all," Tommy glanced at his watch. He poured her cup from the pot.

Isabelle wandered around, admiring the comfortable, modern room as Tommy flipped through the papers she'd brought. He signed his name with bold strokes of his gold pen on several lines and then began bundling the papers back into the folder.

Isabelle noticed a line of matted photographs mounted over the buffet and leaned in to get a closer look. "These are Joe Cornish!"

"You know the photographer?"

"I have one of his prints, as well. It's of Howenstow, actually," she flashed him an abashed smile.

"I might know the one," he responded wryly. "These were gifts from the family for my last birthday."

"It's a gorgeous collection. The place looks familiar," she pointed to the middle frame.

"It's Scotland, at least according to some renegade sheep I once met."

"Pardon?"

"Sorry, bit of an inside joke. That was a gift from Barbara; it was the start of the collection."

"Barbara…"

At that moment, small feet exited one of the doors down the hall and the woman herself emerged, in snug jeans and a comfortable cashmere pullover. She stopped in surprise to find herself facing Isabelle. "Hello?"

"Poppet," Tommy called, a dimple showing in his cheek. "Look who stopped by with that file."

Isabelle had taken approximately one second to clock the situation. "Hello, Barbara."

"Hello," she attempted a welcoming smile. Failed.

Tommy handed the folder back to Isabelle. "I appreciate the favor."

"Think nothing of it. So…Paris?"

"Anniversary trip," Tommy explained, leading her back to the door.

"Well, I hope you both have a lovely time," Isabelle flashed an incredibly artificial smile and lifted her hand in a wave as she let herself out.

Barbara stared at Tommy with lifted eyebrows as he shook his head, denying all responsibility for what had just happened. When the bell rang again a few moments later, she shot him a look that said 'That _better_ not be another woman.'

It was Charlie. "Thank God it's you," She stepped back and let him in.

"Who else would it be, ma'am?"

"Never mind," Barbara smiled at Tommy as Charlie fetched their luggage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Although the she'd been the one to make the reservation and pay for everything, the hotel had not come by its stars lightly. "_Bonjour Monsieur le Comte d'Asherton; bonjour Mademoiselle Havers_," the manager greeted them.

"Hello," Tommy put his arm around Barbara. "We're expected?"

"Yes, of course," the man took the hint and responded in flawless English. They were registered in record time.

The room was, in a word, breathtaking. Two balconies overlooking the Louvre, a sitting room with oversized couches, and two bathrooms. Barbara ran around giddily, thrilled.

"You upgraded us!" She accused, literally hopping into the large closet.

"I didn't do a thing; I swear."

"The flowers?" She sniffed the bouquet of massive roses.

"All right, that was me," he admitted, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a hug. "Happy?"

"Yes," she leaned in and kissed him.

"Then while I'm on a roll…" he reached into his pocket and pulled out two rings. "Happy anniversary."

"Tommy," Barbara inhaled, stricken.

He'd had them reworked from an oversize family ring that, according to Daze, had been considered ugly even when it had been created. The designer had cast two rings out of the heirloom gold – the woman's version set horizontally with one of the Lynley emeralds.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding the rings out to her in the palm of his hand. "I know you often feel like I'm pressuring you."

"I'm all right," she breathed. And, surprisingly, she was. "But are you, I mean, is this you proposing?"

"Would it be all right if I was?" he asked. "Because this never goes well for us."

"Maybe Paris will bring us better luck."

He led her to the bed and they perched on the edge. His innate confidence slowly rebooted, and he took a deep breath. "I intended for this to be a proposal for a proposal. Actually, I would have proposed this time last year. Just skipped the dating and the arguing and moved right into Hammersmith with you."

"There was no Hammersmith this time last year."

"Details," he shrugged.

That got a quick smile out of her, and it was like a bolt of caffeine to his chest. "Say you'll marry me, Barbara. If not this instant, then some day. Say yes to the life we're building together."

"Tommy…"

"I bloody hate being afraid when we argue that'll you walk out the door and it will be days, maybe weeks, before we're together again. I hate double-guessing myself when I make plans whether you'll join me. I want our lives to be _our_ lives. I want to wake up with you," he exhaled, loudly. "This past winter, I dreaded Mondays. Dreaded having to go back to this life that used to be solitary but then became, so obviously, one that simply missing _you_."

"Tommy!"

Sometimes, a person can be smart enough to know when they're happy. To know when to take a leap of faith. Sometimes, the right answer comes easy instead of hard. Barbara Havers had not had a lot of those moments in her life.

_But this was one of them._

She shocked Tommy by taking the larger ring and slipping it on his finger. Wiping her eye with the back of her hand, she nodded. "Yes."

Thomas Lynley's heart burst. His pulse thudded as he made a fist, felt the metal on his skin. He'd expected to show her the wedding rings, not to actually wear them anytime soon. _There was no way now he'd ever take it off_. "Just to be absolutely clear… you did just say _yes_?"

"Yes." She felt herself completely capitulate. _Like jumping out of a plane_.

Tommy pushed the other ring onto her shaking hand then pulled her close to his chest. "Thank you," he whispered reverently. "About damn time. And thank you."

She snaked her arms around his neck and braved his eyes. "You're welcome."

He leaned in and kissed her, gently.

"But, just to be clear…"

He kissed her again.

"No, really, I can't wear…"

"Yes, you can. For the rest of our lives, no arguments…" he kissed her again.

"Be reasonab…"

"No," he was emphatic. He kissed her deeply, tasting her, pulling her closer.

"And we have to wait…"

"For nothing," he argued, leaning past her and brushing their luggage and their belongings off the bed.

"I mean about any kind of wedd…" She fell on top of the bed with his push, half-surprised and half-laughing.

He dropped on top of her, unyielding, and kissed the smile off her face. "I hate weddings. No wedding," he dismissed, taking a quick breath.

"No…"

"We'll give notice and do a civil ceremony at the register office."

"Who said…"

He leaned a little away from her body and arched his eyebrows.

"Good," she agreed. "But what about your mother?"

"Let's leave my mother out of this, shall we?" Barbara groaned as he found that spot between her neck and shoulder. The one that made her arch uncontrollably. "I just want you to think 'honeymoon'," he directed. "We'll practice here, then go there. Not Canada. Think very warm, very naked, and no mobiles. There's a place in Caribbean…"

"Under no circumstances can I be called…"

"Anything you damn well please," he pull her shirt over her head.

"But…"

"Our lives, our rules," he kissed the skin just about the front clasp of her bra. She wiggled at the sensation, trying to get free and have a proper conversation.

"What about…"

He pinned her hand over her head and kissed her again, thoroughly. Then he twined his fingers with hers, until their rings clanged together. "Just give it a bloody rest," he whispered, pressing their hands into the mattress and his body into hers. "I love you, Barbara Havers."

She lifted her free hand to his thick hair. Felt another tear escape from the corner of her eye. "I love you, too. But…"

And then he silenced her again.

And again.

_Fin_.


End file.
